A Haunting at Pemberley
by MrsMarySmythe
Summary: Trapped at Pemberley during a storm, a nervous Elizabeth can't help but wonder – are the stories true? Is the great house haunted? When she races out into the hallway in a fright, she bumps into Mr Darcy...COMPLETE
1. Chapter One

**Title:** A Haunting at Pemberley  
**Rating: **T (PG-13) – for spooky good fun and hints of sexuality (non-explicit).  
**Disclaimer:** Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved._  
_**Setting:** Regency

**Summary:** Trapped at Pemberley during a storm, a nervous Elizabeth can't help but wonder – are the stories true? Is the great house haunted? When she ventures out into the hallway in a fright, she bumps into Mr Darcy...

Who ya gonna call?

* * *

_Chapter One_

"Oh, my, but that smells wonderful," Elizabeth praised as the hearty beef stew she and the Gardiners had ordered was brought into their private quarters. After a long day on the road, she was eager for something substantial to eat, even if it was simplistic inn fare.

"Indeed, it does," agreed her uncle Gardiner as the dish was placed in the center of the table between them. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply, appreciating the aroma of cooked beef, potatoes and carrots. "Though anything would seem more appetizing than our breakfast."

Elizabeth and her aunt laughingly agreed; that morning's repast had been so entirely inedible that they had departed from their previous lodgings without partaking of any of it, leaving them all ravenous at tea time later. Now, they were prepared to eat voraciously to make up for their earlier lack of nourishment.

"Thank you, Hannah," Mrs Gardiner said to the maid as the lid was lifted from the stew pot, revealing the contents to their eyes as well as their noses. She dipped the provided ladle into their meal and began dividing it up amongst the three of them.

Hannah bobbed a polite curtsy before inquiring, "Will you be needin' anythin' more, Ma'am?"

"Perhaps some bread?" suggested Mr Gardiner, who accepted his portion from his wife as he spoke his request. Elizabeth gratefully received hers next.

"Yes, Sir," replied Hannah, dipping another curtsey before withdrawing from the room.

Once Hannah had departed to fetch the bread to accompany their stew, Mrs Gardiner settled herself back into her chair and addressed both of her dining companions. "So, what shall we do tomorrow? I know we had previously discussed paying a visit to Pemberley, but no decision has yet been made. What say you?"

"I have no aversion to the scheme," said Mr Gardiner as he tucked his linen napkin into the collar of his shirt.

Elizabeth, who had been blowing gently on a steaming spoonful of beef and potato, lowered her utensil back into her dish as her stomach began to squirm uncomfortably. She had rather hoped that her relations might forget about visiting that particular estate after she had made a point of showing a lack of enthusiasm for it before, but that had been apparently too much to hope for. "To be perfectly honest, Aunt, I have no inclination for touring another fine house. We have seen so many of late and I really have no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains."

"My love, should you not like to see a place of which you have heard so much?" Mrs Gardiner asked between bites. "A place, too, with which so many of your acquaintance are connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you know."

How could she forget? Elizabeth fought the urge to grimace at the mention of that particular man – for _gentle_man he was not – considering her more recent knowledge of his past behavior. She was sure that the past associations with Pemberley were very pleasing to him, but rather doubted that anyone else who lived there shared that opinion of his residency. Coughing a little, Elizabeth replied, "I should feel awkward to go there without an invitation."

"An invitation, indeed!" cried Mr Gardiner, guffawing at her reasoning. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, clearing away a dribble of gravy from his chin, before pressing on, "We had no such thing at Chatsworth or Blenheim and there was no awkwardness there."

'_True enough_,' Elizabeth admitted silently, '_but then the proprietors of __**those **__great estates had not proposed marriage to me and been rejected soundly_.' However, she could say no such thing aloud and so she contented herself with silence as a response.

"If it were merely a fine house richly furnished," persisted Mrs Gardiner, picking up where her husband had left off, "I should not care about it myself, but the grounds are delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the country. Is that not so?" She posed this last question to the maid who was returning just then with their requested loaf of bread.

"The finest anywhere, Ma'am," Hannah agreed as she laid the additional fare on the table and began portioning it out to her patrons. A young lad of about twelve years entered the room behind her with logs cradled in his arms for the fire. He got to his work against the far wall while the conversation continued around him. "My eldest brother is an undergardner there."

"And is the family home for the summer?" Elizabeth asked, lowering her eyes to her plate in the hopes that the earnestness of her query would go unnoticed. She could hear as well as feel the rapid thudding of her pulse as she awaited an answer.

Hannah shook her head in the negative fashion. "No, Miss. Last I heard, Mr Darcy were off to London."

Elizabeth felt the muscles in her shoulders relax at this welcome news. Her throbbing heart slowed its pace and she could feel the flush in her cheeks subside. She picked up her spoon and dished up a portion, suddenly hungry again.

"Yew don' want to go to Pemberley, Missus," cried the boy from across the room. He stood next to the fireplace, dusted with ash, and stared at them with wide eyes. "Haunted, it is!"

"Hush, you!" chided Hannah, turning back to apologize. "I am so sorry, Sir, Ma'am, Miss. Sam is full of fanciful notions, he is. Always goin' on about somethin' or other."

Mr Gardiner, leaning back in his chair with his hands spread across his happily full stomach, dismissed her contrition with a chuckle. "No need to apologize, Lass, the boy meant no harm. Haunted you say?"

The child nodded vigorously and stepped forward, his hands gesticulating out the open window in what Elizabeth assumed must be the direction to Pemberley. He was warming to his topic and spoke with the kind of excitement that only the youthful can project. "Aye, haunted! I seen it fer myself when I worked in the stables last summer. That place be full 'o spirits."

Mrs Gardiner looked to Elizabeth with a smile curling at the corners of her lips. She had much practice in indulging her own fanciful children and had shared many of their more outlandish stories with her elder nieces. Elizabeth returned her merriment in kind as her uncle continued to dig the particulars out of their storyteller.

Mr Gardiner leaned forward again, propping his elbows upon the table and his chin upon the interlaced fingers of his hands. A crooked grin was growing as he further humored the young man. "Indeed? Are they very frightening, Lad?"

The boy arched his back so that his spine stood straight at attention. "I ain't afraid of no ghosts, sir."

"Certainly not, I would not have suspected it of you," placated Mr Gardiner. "But are there many ghosts? Shall we see one if we visit?"

"Aye, there's one that's said to come up out of the lake if you – "

"That's quite enough out of you! There's plenty 'o work to be done 'round here and never enough time to do it in. Leave off telling your wild stories and get off with you," Hannah scolded, shooing the boy toward the door with a double wave of her hands. "Off with you, Sam! Go see to the Millers' fire."

The boy scowled at her for interrupting, but bowed at the table full of patrons and left. The way he held his nose aloft in the air reminded Elizabeth strongly of a young lady she'd met the previous autumn and the comparison was most amusing. She held a knuckle to her lips, pressed against her growing smile, and fought strongly the urge to laugh aloud.

Once the boy's footsteps could be heard clomping down the staircase, Hannah turned back to the Gardiners and offered another apology. "Sorry again, Sir, Ma'am. Sam is full of tall tales."

"Do not worry yourself about it one bit," said Mr Gardiner, leaning back to sit more comfortably in his chair. "We have a boy at home about his age and he's always telling us the most entertaining stories. Can't believe a single thing he tells you, but he keeps us all laughing."

"Thank you, sir. Please ring the bell if there's anythin' more you be needin'." The maid dropped a quick curtsy and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Once she was gone, Mrs Gardiner turned back to Elizabeth and asked, "So, what do you say to seeing Pemberley tomorrow? It's not directly in our way, but no more than a mile or two out of it. If we are very lucky, perhaps we shall see some of the former residents while we are there." The lady's smile grew incrementally as she told her little joke. Her niece laughed at the notion.

Elizabeth, feeling it would be churlish to protest further and comforted by the sure knowledge that Mr Darcy would not be in residence during their visit, allowed that she should very much like to see what lurked in the depths of Pemberley's lake. "If not a ghost, perhaps a sea monster?" She earned a deep guffaw from her uncle and a more ladylike chuckle from her aunt for this quip.

With no further objections to the scheme, to Pemberley they were to go.

000

"And here is my master!" announced Mrs Reynolds, stopping in front of a large, life-sized portrait of Mr Darcy. She waved her hand toward the painting and added, "And very like him, too."

The gallery at Pemberley was a long hallway on the second level of the great house with a row of tall windows on one side and various pieces of artwork displayed against the wall on the other. There were numerous portraits, most of which were Darcys of yesteryear, but there were also a few landscapes and still lifes sprinkled into the line for variety in addition to assorted works of pottery and sculpture. One particular bust of some ancestor had a nose that had looked familiar, but Elizabeth felt that the current master wore it better.

Now, at the very center of the corridor, the group was stopped before a life-sized rendition of the Mr Darcy she was acquainted with, flanked by wall sconces that would illuminate it even in darkness. He looked every bit as powerful as his forebears and his abominable pride, suddenly, seemed completely reasonable.

Elizabeth was forced to agree with the housekeeper, who proceeded to enthuse over what a remarkable likeness the painting conveyed. The painter, whomever he was, had done a magnificent job of capturing the essence of the strong, masculine Master of Pemberley. He stood, tall and proud, with one hand at his lapel and the other propped against the mantlepiece that their guide had presented to them in the library down below. His boot rested against the hearth at the bottom before a roaring blaze, the leather reflecting the orange light in a sheen that indicated a high polish. She had seen him display himself in just such a way on several occasions during his stay in Hertfordshire and she smiled in appreciation of how very like him it was. The only other position in which he was more familiar would be with his back turned as he stared out of a window, but she supposed that would hardly make a very good portrait. After all, his face would be what future generations would be most interested to see and, though he had quite a habit of hiding it from others, it was well worth looking at.

Mrs Reynolds continued to expound upon the painting – when it had been commissioned, what occasion it had been done for, and so on – and Elizabeth kept her eyes trained upon it. The face that should not be hidden was so very handsome and the artist had managed to capture Mr Darcy in one of his gentler moments. She knew it wasn't creative liberty because he wore a smile that, in retrospect, she recognized as one he had used to turn upon her on occasion. She rather wondered what he had been smiling about at the time his image had been taken, but the housekeeper either had no such knowledge to impart or was disinclined to do so. Whatever it had been at the time, Elizabeth now strangely felt that it was for her benefit, no matter how ridiculous that seemed.

The Gardiners and Mrs Reynolds moved on to another painting and Elizabeth could vaguely hear them commenting upon it, but she remained where she was, staring at the man she had so scornfully rejected back in the spring. That enigmatic smile seemed to be just for her, showering her with benevolence that she didn't deserve. Oh, how she had misjudged him! And for a man such as Mr Wickham. She, who had been so proud of her discernment and ability to study characters, had made the mistake of believing that a person's goodness was necessarily linked to his amiability in society. Had she not spent much of her lifetime controlling her impulses in company to show good manners to others? Was that not some form of mask used to beguile others into seeing only the best parts of herself? Mr Wickham had done much the same, but with nefarious motives for doing so.

Mr Darcy, in contrast, had failed to be polite and had even occasionally given offense, but there had been no cause to doubt his honesty. Considering the wild behavior of some of her own family, how could she condemn a man for poor manners? Her prejudice against him had been born the night of the assembly when he had wounded her vanity, cracked that veneer she wore to put her best self forward, and made her feel as unworthy as her mother told her she was. Elizabeth hadn't been as angry with Mr Darcy as she had been with the realization that she was nothing special to this handsome stranger. Of course, he had apparently changed his mind later, but the shame of being somehow defective had persisted.

Still, that was absolutely no cause for later wounding him as she had. Not only had she accused him of underhanded dealings with Mr Wickham, but she had also overlooked his declaration of ardent love and stomped his heart beneath her boot before grinding it into the floor. She would never forget the expression on his face as she had dared to call him ungentlemanly; he had been stiff and pale, almost as if on the verge of tears, though he had held them back in her presence. Elizabeth had accused him of cruelty to her sister and Mr Bingley, but it had been she that was wantonly vicious. She looked away from the contentedly smiling face of Mr Darcy, too ashamed to face even his likeness.

If only she could see him one last time, or even respond to his letter, she would apologize for every awful thing that she had said. Even his self defense on the score of separating his friend from Jane had shown some merit upon second perusal. Had the situation been reversed, Elizabeth might have offered her dearest sister the same advice, though she supposed that Jane would have ascertained the feelings of her suitor from the source rather than simply disappearing. Leaving Hertfordshire was Mr Bingley's failing.

Well, she decided as she raised her eyes back up to Mr Darcy, there was no cause to fret over the past as the remembrance gave her no pleasure. If she could never see him again, she would at least wish him happy. Perhaps a message to that effect could be left with Mrs Reynolds, who was already aware of a prior acquaintance between Elizabeth and her master. Yes, she would be sure to do that. She walked up close to the painting and, without deliberation beforehand, reached out her fingers to stroke fondly at the glossy image on the canvas. A small sigh escaped her unnoticed.

_Squeeeeeeeak_.

Elizabeth turned at the sudden noise that had interrupted the silence. It was then that she realized that she was alone. "Hello?"

_Creeeeeeeak_.

Perusal of the space around her confirmed that her relations and the housekeeper were no longer in the gallery and that she had been left behind. Bother! She hoped that they were in the next room and that she could catch them up quickly.

Elizabeth inclined her head once more toward Mr Darcy's painting and returned his smile with one of hers. She wished his image well and then turned to proceed down the corridor in the direction her group had been heading upon arrival.

_Squeeeeeeeak_.

Elizabeth stopped in the middle of the lush carpet as the door up ahead at the end of the hallway opened, seemingly of its own accord. Based on the coincidental timing, she concluded that this was also the source of the sharp, squealing noise that had interrupted her interlude with the portrait of Mr Darcy.

She looked ahead of her. She looked behind her. There were no others in evidence, either of her own party or an unknown servant. Elizabeth was alone. Who could have opened the door?

Elizabeth felt a trill of fear climb up her spine, one vertebra at a time, like a mouse scampering up her back on tiny, prickly feet. She felt silly for even considering this, but could the boy's story have been true? Were there ghosts at Pemberley? Surely not!

The door stood perfectly still as she observed it at length, suspiciously immobile after its recent activity. Could a piece of wood mock a person?

On tentatively light feet, Elizabeth approached the open portal and craned her neck to see inside. As far as she could tell, it was a room just like many others, full of furniture and likely unused most of the time in a house so large. It had a couple of chairs, a four poster bed with rich purple velvet hangings and a luxurious carpet on the floor in emerald green. Nothing sinister. Gathering the courage that always rose with every attempt to intimidate her, Elizabeth breached the threshold and stepped inside.

As she'd perceived from outside, there was nothing noteworthy about this chamber other than the obviously high standard of furnishing, which was true of every other she had so far seen at Pemberley. Though tempted to check the handsome black and yellow Japan cabinet against the far wall and take a peek beneath the bed, Elizabeth resisted such foolishness. It would not do to be caught snooping through the contents of a room in which she did not belong; she doubted that even the most superstitious of servants would believe she was looking for ghosts and not treasures to pilfer.

When one of her own curls tickled her cheek, Elizabeth jumped as if it had been a cold, otherworldly finger stroking her face. With a pitter-pattering heart, she then turned to observe that the window directly across from her was open and letting in a lovely summer breeze. She laughed aloud at her own silliness; like almost all unexplained frightening things, it had been the wind causing mischief! '_Of all the ridiculous nonsense...Spirits, indeed!'_

She ventured over to the open window and looked out onto a cheerfully sunny summer day and took a moment to admire the aspect. Across the great lawn were the woods that her aunt had so praised the evening before and, admittedly, they were very fine. The trees were thick, the leaves a verdant green and she could easily imagine how vibrant they would look in the autumn. Elizabeth postulated that the landscape would almost seem as if on fire once the canopy turned red, gold and orange. They might look a touch forlorn in the wintertime, but when frosted with snow they would glisten like freshly iced cakes. And then, of course, they would bud and return to life in the springtime, continuing the cycle all over again.

Beyond the treeline, far off onto the horizon, she could see the peaks rising up in the distance. Oh, how magnificent! In Hertfordshire, rolling hills were the rule and not the exception, so such wild, craggy protrusions rising from the Earth were a novelty to Elizabeth. They stood like kings reaching up to heaven.

Closer to her location, Elizabeth smiled to see the infamous lake where the ghost supposedly resided. It was really more of a stream that had swelled to greater prominence in front of the house, but a lake was not an unfair term for it. It was wide across and, if the dark color toward the center was any indication, quite deep in places. Why a ghost would choose to live there she couldn't determine, but then perhaps the living were simply deprived of choice by their habits of breathing. Elizabeth chuckled to herself over her little joke.

"What do you think, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth, upon hearing the sound of her name, looked down below to see the Gardiners and Mrs Reynolds strolling beneath her upon the lawn. All three had turned back to, presumably, hear her opinion of whatever had been under discussion only to realize that she wasn't there! Her aunt Gardiner called out her name again with the clear intention of bringing her forth.

Elizabeth pushed the window open a little wider and, with one hand bracing herself upon the sill, leaned forward in order to make an answer. She could alert them to her presence within the house and then rush outside to meet them if they would but stay in the same spot. "Aunt – "

_Creeeeeeeeak – CRASH!_

Elizabeth jumped away as the window snapped back at her, shutting her off from the outside. Goodness! Had she been but a few seconds slower, her fingers would have been caught in the frame and likely injured her. Apparently, there had been a strong gust of wind that she had taken no notice of.

She walked back to the window, lifted the latch and pushed against the pane to open it again, but it was stuck. She pressed harder against the frame, but the stubborn thing wouldn't budge at all. Perhaps the wind had been so strong that it had wedged it shut? '_How strange...'_

Elizabeth looked through the glass and down to see that her relatives and Mrs Reynolds were moving on to other locations, spreading out in different directions in an apparent attempt to find her. "Wonderful," she groused aloud even though there was no one around to hear her. Well, she didn't _think_ there was...

Shaking off the most ridiculous notion she had ever entertained before in her life, Elizabeth made the practical decision to simply descend to the lower floor and venture out onto the grounds to intercept her party. She had a decent idea of their location and would hopefully be back in their company very soon.

Thus decided, Elizabeth exited the way she had come in, glancing suspiciously at the door as she passed through it, and headed in the direction that she remembered the staircase to be in.

She found her way to the ground floor easily enough, but discovering a door through which to make her exit onto the grounds proved to be more difficult than she had anticipated. Elizabeth, finding an alarming lack of servants on the ground floor to direct her, had instead let herself tentatively into several different rooms in hopes of either discovering a way out or someone to inquire assistance from, but had been stymied at every turn.

In the first two rooms, unused parlors papered with elegant designs, there had been only windows and she was not about to get caught letting herself out of one of those. There was no ladylike explanation for such an action when Pemberley (presumably) had many more appropriate exits. She left these without even bothering to cross the threshold inside.

The next room had turned out to be a closet. She had moved on quickly from that.

Finally, she let herself into what she had initially believed to be the library – though she had no notion of how she had gotten to that particular part of the house again – but had turned out to be a private study. A large, heavy-looking desk built from a dark mahogany was placed at one end of the room, partially surrounded by loaded bookshelves at its back and sides, and an empty hearth was carved into the wall at the other. In between, there was a cozy sitting area of four green leather chairs surrounding a fur rug, clearly a place a man would find comfortable. To Elizabeth's horror, she had stumbled into Mr Darcy's inner sanctum.

As Elizabeth placed one foot behind her, ready to flee and pretend she had never been there, the flicker of warm sunlight caught her attention. She refocused and raised her eyes to the far wall where the source could be found; a bank of nearly floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding a pair of french doors! Considering the view of the lake through the glass, she knew that these would lead her out onto the grounds.

Elizabeth only hesitated a moment before reversing course and stepping fully into the study, gently and quietly closing the door to the hallway behind her. She had no intention of disturbing anything, she reminded herself as anxiety tightened in her stomach, but she needed to get outside! Had she accepted the position of Mistress of Pemberley in the spring, she would have insisted that someone make her a map of this confusing place to carry around with her.

Elizabeth crossed the room on eagerly quick feet, dodging around one of the green leather chairs toward her destination, intent on escape. Perhaps because her pace was so fast, she stumbled over nothing and had to pause and right herself, arms flailing out around her for purchase on any available surface. She was saved from ignominy by the edge of Mr Darcy's desk and, thankfully, her balance was regained without injuring any of the (presumably valuable) contents of the room.

As Elizabeth righted herself, she noticed another family portrait hung behind the desk which hadn't been noticeable from the hallway entrance because of the way it was sunk within the wall of bookshelves surrounding it. She at first thought that it was another likeness of Mr Darcy and his sister, but the pair in the painting, upon second consideration, were a touch too old to be the current master and the young Georgiana. The man, however, bore a striking resemblance to the Mr Darcy she knew, so she supposed that he must be the elder Mr George Darcy, Fitzwilliam's father. It was easy to deduce from there that the woman then must be his mother, the late Lady Anne Darcy.

The couple was posed together in a very traditional way, he standing behind with his hand on her shoulder while his lady sat on a piece of furniture, and they looked very united as Master and Mistress of Pemberley. There was no sign of their children, so she supposed it must be a wedding portrait, an assumption which was borne out by how youthful Lady Anne looked and the outdated cut of their clothing. They looked very elegant together, smiling benignly at future generations.

Mr George Darcy was very handsome, just like his son, with a touch of gray at his temples that was nothing if not distinguished. He hardly looked ancient, though there was a certain air of wisdom that the current Mr Darcy, for all of his abilities, still lacked. Elizabeth supposed he would have it one day, but considering his fumbling courtship of herself and his inability to socialize without offending, she felt that he was still some ways off yet. She was sure that Mr George Darcy, with the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the gentle smile he had also passed down to his progeny, would have known better than to offer an insulting proposal and expect acceptance.

Lady Anne Darcy, seated by her husband's side on an embroidered sofa with a pug lounging on her lap, was much younger by comparison, perhaps no older than Elizabeth herself. It wasn't terribly uncommon for older grooms to marry younger brides, but it certainly was unusual for the pairings in such unions to look so content with one another. Still, Lady Anne showed no signs of strain for her position, her own hand resting upon her husband's as he touched her shoulder, and her eyes showed a certain merriment that seemed unfeigned to Elizabeth. She supposed that the artist could have put it there rather than copying it from life, but the signature in the bottom corner confirmed it to be the same one commissioned to create the portrait of the current Mr Darcy upstairs in the gallery, so his accuracy was perhaps not to be questioned. He had certainly copied that cryptic smile of the younger master from life.

"Would they have approved of their son's choice?" Elizabeth wondered aloud to the painting as much as to herself, gazing upon the faces of what could have been her in-laws. "Or would they have shared Mr Darcy's opinion? That I was beneath them all?"

She sighed, unaccountably saddened by the thought that these long-dead strangers might have not liked her at all. Mr George Darcy, like his son, came from a long line of wealthy gentlemen, originating at the time of William the Conqueror, as detailed by Mrs Reynolds earlier in the afternoon. Lady Anne, of course, was the daughter of an earl and entitled to her share of pride. She hardly looked as haughty as her sister, Lady Catherine, but she surely would have considered herself above a nobody from Hertfordshire.

And what would they have thought of her refusal?

THUMP!

Elizabeth jumped several inches off the floor and spun around, looking for the source of the noise that had startled her – something that seemed to be happening to her much today. With her hands both braced upon the desk at her back, she surveyed the room but found nothing that immediately looked out of place. No servant come to chase her away. Only...a book. On the floor.

Trembling slightly from the fright, Elizabeth released her hold on the wooden desktop and crossed the room, approaching the displaced leather-bound tome that rested in front of the fireplace. It appeared to be the Darcy Family Bible and it laid splayed open along its binding, its pages spread for perusal. Its stand, from which it had apparently fallen, stood stoically to one side of the great fireplace, empty of its charge.

Elizabeth knelt down, intending to pick it up, and her eyes caught some of the words on the page.

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy..._

Elizabeth, who had been reaching out for the Bible, retracted her hand as if she had instead placed it in a fire. Her heart thudded against the inside of her ribcage as she stood up and backed away a pace. Of all the verses in all of Christendom, how could the tome have opened to _that _one? Elizabeth rubbed at her arms, still encased in the sleeves of her spencer, as goosebumps erupted across her skin.

She had to leave. Now.

Leaving the Bible where it lay, Elizabeth rushed to the french doors, wrenched one open and practically threw herself out onto the lawn.

Outside in the bright summer day, Elizabeth drew in a deep, shuddering breath of warm air. She let it out and then took in another, releasing it in the same way. After several of these calming exercises, the tremblings and flutterings began to subside and she felt more herself. She then laughed aloud at herself as the comparison that could be drawn between her current trembling condition and her mother's infamous nervous fits became apparent.

With one last glance back at the house, Elizabeth shook off the last of her jitters and began strolling forward toward the lake. Its still, shining waters drew her forth with natural eminence, soothing the anxiety she had been feeling all day in this place. Between ghost stories and the equally haunting reminders of its absent master, Pemberley had proven to be a challenge to her equilibrium.

As she walked along the banks of the lake, Elizabeth began to feel a little silly. The stories told by the boy at the inn had clearly left more of an impression than she had originally thought and that, she concluded, must be the source of her fright. Had young Sam never told her that Pemberley was haunted, she likely would never have even noticed some of the things she had counted as strange happenings since her visit to the gallery. She would have ascribed everything – the creaking doors, the recalcitrant window, the conspicuously to-the-point Bible verse – as either coincidence or the wind. No, she had spooked herself; Aunt Gardiner would be vastly amused when Elizabeth told her later over dinner how she had jumped over every little noise!

Elizabeth approached the waterline and crouched down to dip her fingers in. It was delightfully cool and soothing on a hot day full of so much stress and she trailed her digits along the surface, scattering rings in all directions. Nature was so peace –

SPLASH!

With a screech, Elizabeth fell backwards onto the grass as something emerged from the lake just before her, huge and hulking, and loomed over her while she attempted to scramble away. Her skirts tangled up her legs and hindered her escape from the dripping silhouette, increasing her mindless panic.

Then, the apparition spoke: "M-Miss Bennet?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I couldn't resist at least one reference to _Ghostbusters_. That movie defines my generation. If you squint, you'll also see nods to the film _Ghost_ and _Northanger Abbey_.

This story will be told in three parts, so curb your expectations for a lengthy work (if you had any, of course). There will, however, be an alternative "mature" chapter tacked onto the end which will simply be an expansion of the original "clean" ending. Also, an epilogue.

This is my first venture into JAFF, so please be kind. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

**Next Update:** September 30, 2019

**Expected Completion:** November 30, 2019

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	2. Chapter Two

**Title:** A Haunting at Pemberley  
**Rating: **T (PG-13) – for spooky good fun.  
**Disclaimer:** Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved._  
_**Setting:** Regency

**Summary:** Trapped at Pemberley during a storm, a nervous Elizabeth can't help but wonder – are the stories true? Is the great house haunted? When she races out into the hallway in a fright, she bumps into Mr Darcy...

Who ya gonna call?

* * *

_Chapter Two_

"M-Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth ceased struggling as the voice of the newly risen spirit struck her as familiar. She raised her eyes upward and, squinting against the shards of late afternoon sunlight which outlined the silhouette, glared up into its face. "Mr Darcy?"

Indeed, the Master of Pemberley was home. He stood before her wearing nothing but a linen shirt and riding breeches, both of which were plastered to his skin and, the top portion at least, shockingly transparent. Water ran down his face in rivulets, dripping from the sopping, unruly mess that was his hair, and splotches of mud were visible upon his face and clothing. Over one shoulder, some kind of water frond dangled. He was not nearly so formally attired as in his portrait, yet still was as devastatingly handsome as she remembered. Perhaps even more so.

She flushed bright red as the implications of him finding at his estate occurred to her. What must he think of her? To not only have the gall to visit Pemberley without invitation, and in spite of their history, and then also to trespass upon his presence when he was so...so...

"Forgive me, I...," Elizabeth began, but then he slicked his hair back away from his face and she forgot what she was going to say. His hand remained tangled in his hair as he stared at her, chest heaving, with those stormy gray eyes of his.

"Miss Bennet," he said again, blinking as if to clear his vision of water droplets – or perhaps her. "I...I am sorry to greet you in such a way. Are you...," he shook his head, squinting his eyes shut, before resuming his gaze, "here alone?"

"No," she managed to reply, "I am traveling with my aunt and uncle and we came here for a tour. I was separated from our group and, in searching for them, stumbled across you...," she gestured at him and he looked down his body, his own ears reddening quickly, "like this."

"Ahem, yes, of course," said Mr Darcy, lowering his arm back down to his side. It made a wet _slop_ sound when it collided with his soggy clothing. "I have only just returned myself and, it being such a very hot day, decided to cool off before going into the house. I apologize for greeting you in such away." He seemed not to realize that he had already said the last bit.

Elizabeth couldn't withhold a small laugh, though it came out as more a nervous titter than her usual throaty chuckle. "I assure you that I understand completely, sir. There have been many times I have wished to cool myself so expeditiously when the weather turns so hot. Were I a man, perhaps I would indulge this inclination occasionally."

"You never have?" he inquired.

Elizabeth impishly smirked, more prepared to tease him now. "If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it. Is it not bad enough that I dirty my hems so thoroughly on my walks?"

Finally, Mr Darcy smiled. It was the same enigmatic curve of the lips as seen in his portrait and Elizabeth could feel her pulse, only recently resettled, quicken. "No matter how many inches deep in mud your hems have been, I doubt you have ever encountered a guest like this," he spread his arms to remind her of his own bedraggled state.

"No," Elizabeth agreed, feeling her sparkle beginning to return, "I cannot say that I have, though perhaps my mother deserves the credit for that. I was never very tidy in my appearance as a child and likely looked disheveled more often than not, in spite of her attempts to keep me otherwise."

Mr Darcy's smile remained, though he seemed to have run out of words for their silly little conversation.

After a moment of silence, which was equal parts awkward and thrilling, Elizabeth entreated, "Sir, I beg your pardon, but might I have your assistance? I appear to be trapped by my own gown."

Mr Darcy's eyes widened and he sloshed forward, still up to his calves in the lake, his arms outstretched toward her. He had just reached the shoreline when he said, "I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet! I was so astonished that I was not thinking. Allow me to assist you." He mounted the grassy slope upon which she had stumbled at his unexpected appearance and reached both hands to her, bare feet squishing in the soil beneath him.

Elizabeth accepted both hands gladly and allowed herself to be pulled upwards into a standing position. He was so strong and she so light, that the momentum thrust her forward quickly and she nearly fell into his chest, though he had managed to steady her before she took another spill. She looked upwards, intending to both thank and apologize to him again, and found their faces mere inches from one another's. She could feel the soft puffs of his breaths against her cheeks and sensed his breathing noticeably quicken after a few moments.

"Miss Bennet, I..."

"Lizzy!"

Quite tired of surprises for the day, Elizabeth stepped backwards and away from the improperly dressed Mr Darcy to see her aunt, uncle and Mrs Reynolds coming toward them from around the corner that led to the eastern side of the house. Aunt Gardiner was waving to her as a plea for her attention.

Once in closer proximity, Aunt Gardiner said, "Oh, Lizzy! We have been looking for you everywhere. When did you get separated, my dear?"

"While we were still in the gallery. I looked up and realized that I was alone and came looking for you," she replied, sneaking a glance at Mr Darcy. He was still looking a touch bemused, as if waking from a dream and readjusting himself to reality.

"I see," said Aunt Gardiner, bringing Elizabeth's own focus back to the present. The elder lady's gaze was focused upon a spot between Elizabeth and Darcy, drawing Elizabeth's attention there.

They were still holding hands! Mr Darcy had not yet released her from their bumbling attempts to help her back to her feet, leaving her fingers still trapped within the confines of his own. Startled, she withdrew them quickly, though it hardly mattered now that Aunt Gardiner had witnessed the interaction. This same lady tilted her head and raised her eyebrows in silent question, prompting Elizabeth to begin, "Ah, this is not what it seems..."

"And what is going on here?" asked Uncle Gardiner, catching up to his wife. His tone was outwardly jovial, though Elizabeth knew her uncle well enough to understand that she had best tread lightly with her answer. Mrs Reynolds lingered in the background behind the Gardiners, though she looked to Mr Darcy as if ready for instruction.

Elizabeth coughed a little into her fist and, with her eyes firmly fixed upon her relations, began, "Uncle, Aunt, this is Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy, these are my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. My sister Jane stayed with them in _Cheapside_ when she was lately in London." She did not know how Mr Darcy would react to being introduced to a tradesman and his wife, though she was curious to see how he would treat them.

To her surprise, Mr Darcy bowed to them both and spoke with nothing short of absolute courtesy. "Mr and Mrs Gardiner, welcome to Pemberley. I trust you have been enjoying your tour?"

Mrs Gardiner responded for the couple. "Yes, the house is very impressive and the grounds just delightful, as we had been assured. We had heard that you were away and did not intend to trespass on your...," she looked him up and down, an amused smile trembling on her lips, "privacy."

Mr Darcy looked down at himself and blushed anew. "Ahem, yes, as I was just explaining to Miss Bennet, I have only just arrived and decided to cool off in the lake, not realizing that I had guests. The rest of my party," he directed his speech back toward Elizabeth, "will arrive tomorrow. I hope you shall still be in the area," he added hopefully.

Elizabeth, feeling bashfulness overtaking her at this direct query about her plans, replied, "I believe so, sir. My aunt hails from Lambton and we intend to stay some days to revisit some of her old haunts." She flinched at her choice of words; "haunts," indeed!

Mr and Mrs Gardiner exchanged a look, though Elizabeth could not tell if they were laughing at her accidental joke or wondering over the scene they had encountered between herself and the soaking wet Mr Darcy. Elizabeth was likely to hear something of both later when they returned to the inn.

"I see," was Mr Darcy's reply, beginning a long moment of silence amongst the party.

Mr Gardiner was the one to break the discomfiting quiet between them by announcing, "I believe it is time for us to depart as you shall certainly require the skills of your excellent housekeeper. We would not wish to monopolize her time."

"No!" Mr Darcy cried, almost before Mr Gardiner had finished. The tradesman raised an amused eyebrow at the anxious landowner. "That is, do not let my arrival interrupt your tour. I shall go change and be back down shortly to lead it myself, if you would be so kind as to wait here for me."

"We would not wish to impose...," replied Mrs Gardiner, flicking her eyes toward Elizabeth. Her niece blushed and tore her own gaze away, affixing it upon the toe of her left boot, which was nudging at a tuft of grass.

"It is no imposition," denied Mr Darcy. "If you prefer, I could have refreshments sent to you in one of the parlors while you wait. Truly, I shall be with you again shortly and wish for you to stay."

It was Elizabeth who declined this time, wary of returning to the manor house after fighting so long to escape it earlier. "No, thank you, Mr Darcy. I believe we shall wait here."

Mr Darcy bowed to her and then walked away, barefoot and dripping, with Mrs Reynolds at his heels. She could hear the squelching of the lawn as he took each step until he was nearly at the front entrance.

Once the master and his most trusted servant were well out of earshot, Mr Gardiner leaned toward Elizabeth to tease, "Well, Lizzy, I see you have found what lurks in the lake."

o0o

Over dinner that evening, which was sliced ham, boiled turnips and rolls rather than stew, Elizabeth and the Gardiners laughed cheerily over her misadventures of the afternoon.

"And so the ghosts lured you into the room only to trap you in there? How inhospitable!" joked Mr Gardiner, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of one of his eyes.

"I was not trapped, Uncle," Elizabeth disagreed, her own mirth overflowing. She had been sure to tell her relations the story of her spectral encounters with the type of enthusiasm which such a tale deserved and even feigned suspenseful, dramatic pauses whenever a new incident had been revealed. They had all savored her storytelling. "The window was locked against me, but the door to the hall was still wide open. I suspect the spirit was merely playing a little prank on me."

"As with the Bible?" her Aunt Gardiner chimed in, slicing a piece of ham steak off of her portion and wrapping her grinning mouth around it.

"Oh, yes, very like that," said Elizabeth with the greatest solemnity she could muster, which was not much. "Though I must say that the spirit was a little too on point with that quote. I might have chosen something from Deuteronomy or perhaps Mark. Something less obvious."

"I always thought ghosts preferred Mrs Radcliffe's novels," quipped Mr Gardiner. He earned another round of laughter from his dining companions for that.

Further away from the imposing walls of Pemberley and her master, Elizabeth was much more comfortable joking about the wraiths that supposedly haunted its halls. She also felt more than a mite ridiculous for being so spooked by creaking doors, the playful wind, falling books and so-called lake monsters, having convinced herself that it was only her imagination that was beset by apparitions. Everything she had seen at Pemberley had a mundane explanation and she had gotten herself into such a tizzy over nothing! She might as well have excused herself to bed to tend to her poor nerves.

"And then, after all of that," Mr Gardiner continued when the amusement had died down a touch, "to stumble across Mr Darcy in such a state! Tell me, my dear, did you think he was a phantom or a sea serpent when he rose from the muck?"

"I hardly know _what_ I thought, Uncle," Elizabeth owned with an impish smirk, "but I was certain that whatever it was intended to _eat me_ for tea!"

Uncle Gardiner slapped his hand upon the sturdy wooden table repeatedly as he howled at his niece's latest sally while his wife snorted into her napkin. "I shall take great pleasure in the experience when we tell your father of this. Please, Lizzy, promise that you will not write to him of it and spoil the moment."

"I promise, Uncle. It loses something in the retelling on paper, anyhow," she agreed, grinning at him.

"But shall we write to him of Mr Darcy?" Aunt Gardiner queried, peeking at Elizabeth through the corner of her eye as she replaced the linen napkin upon her lap.

Elizabeth could feel the blush rising in her face and her merriment died as a wave of embarrassment overtook her. "I do not know what you mean, Aunt. Why should I write to Papa of Mr Darcy?"

Aunt Gardiner shook her head. "I rather think that your Uncle and I might have to take that responsibility, Lizzy. It would not be right to leave him unaware of your courtship if, indeed, he does not already know."

Elizabeth grew so warm that she almost felt as if steam should be coming out the top of her head! "Courtship? Do not be ridiculous!"

"Mmm," replied Mrs Gardiner, her attention seemingly fixed upon buttering her roll. "I suppose you hold hands with many young men, then?"

"Of course not!"

"Then Mr Darcy is a special case?"

Becoming frustrated, Elizabeth's tone was a touch sharper than she generally used with her aunt. "He was simply helping me to right myself. When he rose out of the lake like a great sea monster come to feed upon a helpless maiden, I tripped upon my skirts and fell. He was kind enough to assist me back to my feet."

"I see."

How could she make them understand without revealing the events at Hunsford? She knew that Mr Darcy would never pay her any sort of attentions again, not after being rejected so thoroughly, but it would be nigh impossible to convince her well meaning relations of this without admitting to something of their shared past. However, Mr Darcy did not deserve to be humiliated by having the affair shared with others, even those as trustworthy as the Gardiners, and it would bring herself no small amount of pain to relate her shortcomings, as well. No, she would have to try and dissuade them some other way, or simply let them think what they would about the situation; when she left the country without an offer, they would then realize their error.

"Lizzy," her aunt began again, placing a hand upon Elizabeth's forearm. Her tone was changed to one less teasing and more motherly, soothing the nerves she had ruffled. "I do not mean to tease you about something that is such a sensitive matter, but I think you must realize that Mr Darcy has some form of intentions toward you. He was most gracious to us all, but particularly attentive to your comfort while in his presence. He could hardly take his eyes off of you! Whether you return his affections or not, I do not know, but do not be caught unawares if he makes his feelings known."

Elizabeth lowered her head and stared at her aunt's hand, which stroked soothingly at her arm with a thumb. Sighing, she said, "I believe you are mistaken, Aunt. Mr Darcy cannot have any intentions toward me. He made it very clear in Ke – Hertfordshire that me and my family are beneath his consequence. There can be no match." He had also made it very clear during his proposal, but Elizabeth was hardly at liberty to divulge _that_.

"He requested permission to introduce you to his sister, did he not?"

"Yes, but – "

"Trust me, Lizzy," said Mrs Gardiner with an air of forced patience. "A man will not risk introducing a lady to his family unless he is intending to mark her as special. Most will not unless an offer is imminent."

There was nothing to say to that; they were at an impasse.

"Ahem," Mr Gardiner interjected, dabbing one last time at his mouth before depositing his linen napkin on his plate. "Anyone for cards?"

o0o

The next morning, Elizabeth sat by the window at the inn and watched the good people of Lambton go about their business, an open book – _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, in honor of Mr Gardiner's reference from the night before – spread across her lap. She had not been reading it for quite some time, but was hardly in the mood to even affect interest in it, so enraptured were her thoughts with Mr Darcy.

Her aunt and uncle had gone out for the morning to call upon old acquaintances and Elizabeth had begged off, pretending a slight headache. It was beneath her to lie, but she knew that she would not be good company for anyone just now and, moreover, could think of no way to describe her actual affliction. Melancholy? No, not quite. Unsettled nerves? Horrible thought! No it was more like...

...anticipation. She was waiting for something and could feel the pins and needles of impatience pricking at her all night long. She could not name what she was apprehending, but she knew that Mr Darcy was the source.

Elizabeth huffed and closed her book with a snap before cradling it against her chest. She folded up her legs, crossed at the ankles, and brought them into the window seat with her as she lounged back against the wall. She continued to watch the street as her mind wandered the five miles between her current location and Pemberley.

Mr Darcy, despite their awkward reunion at the lake, had been all that was polite and accommodating after his necessary change of clothes. He had guided their party around the lake, pointing out all the best places to fish to her uncle, and had even deigned to walk beside her once her aunt had stated a preference for her husband's steadying arm over her niece's. His conversation had been cordial, even warm, throughout their afternoon together and shown nothing but the utmost respect for the Gardiners. He knew that they were in trade as Miss Bingley had made repeated jibes to that effect while they were all still in Hertfordshire, but Mr Darcy had gone out of his way to welcome them to his home. All for the sake of a woman who had rejected him. It made no sense at all.

Could her aunt be correct? Did Mr Darcy still hold her in some form of esteem? He surely would never chance another proposal, not after what had happened in Kent, but perhaps he wished to part on better terms than before and prove himself to be the gentleman that she had decried him not to be.

Of course, had she not the knowledge of his former offer, his actions might have indicated a growing interest in a union between them, but unfortunately – and Elizabeth was mildly surprised to discover that she did consider it to be _un_fortunate – their past was what it was and any future between them would have to be on the level of acquaintanceship, nothing more. Even an average man with average pride would baulk at renewing addresses to a woman who had so soundly denied him previously.

Perhaps he was simply trying to effect a truce between them for the sake of...well, she wasn't really sure what his motivation might be, but Elizabeth had already misjudged him greatly before and so it would hardly surprise her to learn that he did so out of the goodness that she now knew resided in his heart. An honorable man like Mr Darcy would surely wish to make amends.

But then...

"Stop it, Lizzy," she chided herself, shaking her head to dispel her thoughts. She was going around in circles and was beginning to feel dizzy from the effort. Puzzling over Mr Darcy and his motives was hardly constructive; she would know what his intentions were when – or if – she ever saw him again.

Elizabeth watched from the window as a large, shiny black carriage rolled up to the front of the inn and stopped there, presumably with the intention to release its passengers. She supposed that they must be fellow travelers like herself, possibly only stopping in for a spot of tea before getting back on the road since it was still so early in the day, and she watched as the servants scurried to open the door and a gentleman stepped out.

Elizabeth gasped; it was Mr Darcy!

She continued to observe as Mr Darcy reached back inside and withdrew a delicate gloved hand which then led to the emergence of a young girl, roughly Lydia's age, who daintily climbed down the lowered steps. Though Elizabeth knew from Mr Darcy's information yesterday that Miss Bingley was also visiting Pemberley, she realized that this person could only be Miss Darcy for the other woman, though similarly tall, was built on a more waifish scale. Moreover, when the girl angled her face upward at the building – and here Elizabeth ducked away from her line of sight – it was confirmed that Georgiana Darcy was the young lady in question. Had logic not told her so, the portrait hung near her brother's at Pemberley would have confirmed her identity.

Behind Miss Darcy, another man hopped from the conveyance with a familiar burst of boisterousness. As Mr Darcy had promised, Mr Bingley was visiting Derbyshire.

As she watched the party approach the door to the inn, it occurred to Elizabeth that she needed to be prepared for their arrival and she practically tumbled out of the window seat. She straightened herself up and shook out her skirts, hoping that they were not too wrinkled for receiving company, and then patted at her hair. Her appearance would simply have to do because she could hear footsteps out on the staircase heading her way.

There was a knock at the door and she bid entrance just as she seated herself upon the sofa in the seating area. It swung inward to reveal Sam, the bearer of ghost stories, followed closely by the party from Pemberley. "Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy and Mr Bingley, Miss," the boy announced.

Elizabeth rose and curtsied to the group. "Good morning."

She received bows and a curtsy in return. "Good morning, Miss Bennet," said Darcy, speaking for the rest. "I hope we have not come at an inconvenient time." His eyes darted around the room as if looking for the missing Gardiners.

Elizabeth smiled and reassured him, "Not at all. My aunt and uncle have gone round visiting old acquaintances this morning and I have stayed behind to attend to some matters of my own. Please, will you not sit?" She indicated the chairs surrounding her chosen sofa as they approached. "Sam, could you call for tea?"

The boy, still lingering in the doorway, bowed and made his exit to perform her request. She could hear him scampering down the stairs, as full of boundless energy as all lads his age.

With a fond shake of her head, Elizabeth turned back to her guests who were still clustered around the seating area. Mr Darcy was staring at her, as was his wont, and she could feel some heat prickling in her cheeks. "It is good to see you again, sir," she began, breaking the silence, albeit awkwardly. "Is this your sister who I have heard so much about?"

Mr Darcy seemed to startle himself back to the present situation and agreed, "Yes. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, may I present my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy? Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We met when I stayed with Bingley in Hertfordshire last autumn."

The ladies exchanged curtsies again and Elizabeth indicated with a wave of her hand that they should all be seated, to which they acquiesced. Elizabeth regained her position on the sofa and encouraged Miss Darcy to join her there while the two men took chairs opposite to the ladies.

"I am honored to receive a visit from you so soon, Miss Darcy, Mr Bingley. I understand you were due to arrive this morning?"

Miss Darcy, seemingly disinclined to speak, looked down at her hands in her lap while Mr Bingley took the office upon himself. "Indeed, we did, Miss Elizabeth – or rather, I should call you Miss Bennet now, should I not? Your elder sister not being present."

Elizabeth smiled at this immediate reference to Jane. In spite of her reservations about Mr Bingley's steadiness of character because of recent events, it seemed he had not forgotten her sister. "I am happy to see you again, sir. I hope I may give my family a good report of your health?"

"Oh, yes!" Mr Bingley laughed. "I am as I always was. Tell me, is – ahem, that is, are all your sisters well? And your parents?"

Elizabeth could feel her smile growing incrementally. "Yes, very well, indeed, though my youngest sisters are rather bereft now that the militia has departed from Meryton for the summer. My youngest, Lydia, had intended to go to Brighton with the wife of the colonel – you remember Mrs Forster, I am sure – but she came down with a fever just before they were to depart and did not get to go after all. Aside from this disappointment, however, my family is as ever was."

She could see Mr Bingley relax at the implication of her words, as she had intended. Though she had not mentioned Jane by name, it was understood between them that her purpose had been to give him reason to believe that the eldest Bennet daughter was still at home and available to him should he wish to pursue her again.

This accomplished, Elizabeth turned her attention to Miss Darcy who had yet to say anything aside from "good morning" and ventured, "How was your journey, Miss Darcy? The trip from London must have been very long."

And so began a stilted conversation of pleasantries which ventured into nothing groundbreaking, yet seemed to put the younger girl at ease. Elizabeth persisted in asking questions that could not be answered with a monosyllable while Mr Darcy occasionally jumped in to encourage his sister to speak more. Between the two of them, and the always affable presence of Mr Bingley, they they managed to keep the discourse going. They were interrupted once by the arrival of tea, presented to them by Hannah, but otherwise Miss Darcy exerted herself to talk.

Elizabeth found Miss Georgiana Darcy to be a shy, sweet thing and not at all how Mr Wickham had described her, not that she should be so surprised by yet another revelation regarding that man's perfidy. Some might call her proud if they, themselves, felt inferior, but a silent individual does not necessarily intend to give offense (something her recent history had taught her at some cost). The young lady was perfectly unassuming and gentle with no pretensions of any sort that Elizabeth could discern. Indeed, it seemed to take great effort on Miss Darcy's part just to speak at all. Fortunately, Mr Darcy seemed eager to forward a friendship between herself and his sister, prodding her silently with nods and expressions to encourage more speech.

As Elizabeth paused to take a sip of tea, she noticed a silent communication occurring between brother and sister. Mr Darcy raised his eyebrows at Miss Darcy and nodded subtly at their hostess, a message that the girl seemed to understand. She flushed a little and pivoted toward Elizabeth on their shared sofa to say, "Miss Bennet, I...that is, my brother and I...we would be very honored if you would join us tomorrow at Pemberley. For tea."

Elizabeth smiled at the young Miss Darcy, happy to encourage her nervous attempt at offering an invitation. "I shall have to confer with my aunt and uncle, but I believe we have no fixed plans for tomorrow. Tentatively, I accept."

"I do hope you will be able to attend," said Miss Darcy, glancing at her brother for further instruction.

Mr Darcy coughed and added, "Yes, we hope to see you tomorrow afternoon. And if your uncle is available in the morning, we gentlemen have put together a fishing party and would be happy for his company. He mentioned yesterday that he was fond of the sport but rarely has the opportunity to indulge."

Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder; had this fishing party been assembled before or after her uncle had stated a preference for the activity? It seemed too coincidental to have been formed before, yet was she being too vain to think it might be a compliment to her? Aunt Gardiner's words of encouragement over dinner the evening before flooded back to her as did the heat in her cheeks.

"I shall recommend it to him," said Elizabeth, eyes fixed upon his as she offered him a shy smile. He returned it and they remained in this attitude for several long seconds.

The moment was broken at the arrival of the Gardiners, who let themselves into the room and stopped short upon seeing guests awaiting them. The Darcys and Mr Bingley rose and exchanged greetings with the older couple and Elizabeth performed the office of introductions.

"We have been invited back to Pemberley tomorrow," Elizabeth said once the necessities of social intercourse were out of the way. "I could not give them a definite answer without your concurrence, but you and I, Aunt, have been invited to tea. Uncle, Mr Darcy has asked for your company for fishing in the morning."

"How delightful!" exclaimed Mrs Gardiner, looking to her husband for his approbation before continuing, "I don't see why not. We would be happy to visit you tomorrow at Pemberley, Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy. We thank you for thinking of us."

"Tell me, Mr Darcy, are there more like what Lizzy found in the lake yesterday to be caught?" Mr Gardiner asked, grinning as Mr Darcy shifted uncomfortably and his niece glared at him. "If so, I believe we shall require a net."

"Ah, I am afraid not," replied the more solemn gentleman, eyes darting to his sister and friend.

"A great pity, indeed. Lizzy was quite happy with her catch." Mr Gardiner continued to revel in the discomfort of the two young people, much as Elizabeth's father might. It was no wonder they were such great friends.

Thankfully, Mrs Gardiner placed a hand upon her husband's arm, preventing him from saying anything further. She reinforced her subtle gesture with a look that could not be misunderstood by anyone in the room. "I am sure there are many fish to be caught, dear."

It was settled amongst them; to Pemberley on the morrow they were to go.

Not long after this, Mr Darcy declared that the time for their visit had elapsed – when Elizabeth checked the clock, she realized that they had been with her for more than three quarters of an hour – and it was time for them to depart. There was another flurry of bows and curtsies before the forms had been exhausted and the party made their exit.

Elizabeth saw them to the door and, while Mr Bingley escorted Miss Darcy down the stairwell, Darcy lingered for a few moments longer to press a kiss to the back of her hand. He said nothing, but his eyes told her much.

Once Mr Darcy, too, had left, Mrs Gardiner said to her niece, "I hope you are now convinced."

Elizabeth said nothing, but smiled.

o0o

The next day began beautiful and warm with only a smattering of white fluffy clouds to mar the perfect expanse of blue that was the sky. Mr Gardiner declared it perfect for sport out in the open air and left relatively early in the morning, as had been arranged, so that they might fish before the weather grew too warm. He bid his wife and niece goodbye and promised to send the carriage back to them in plenty of time to make their own visit to the great estate. With only one joke about keeping his host out of the lake today, he left them to their breakfast.

Over breakfast, the topic of Mr Darcy again rose between the two ladies. Mrs Gardiner, though not nearly so pushy as Mrs Bennet, was still a persistent force in her nieces' lives, offering advice and guiding them where they most needed it. It had been she who had dissuaded that eager gentleman who had written Jane such terrible poetry some years ago from making an offer, no matter her sister-in-law's opinion on the matter. The man in question had been one of Mr Gardiner's clerks and, though nice enough in his way, was something of an unreliable bounder and not at all suitable for a husband. Mrs Gardiner had stepped in and put a stop to his attentions before Jane's reputation had been damaged and it had all been done so subtly that Mrs Bennet had never known how her designs had been thwarted, though Jane and, by extension, Elizabeth were grateful for the interference.

In the current interest of Elizabeth's, Mrs Gardiner was no less intent to see the courtship come out like it should, though she always drew the line at outright meddling. Unless, as had been the case with Jane, she were directly asked to take action. Elizabeth was much stronger of character than her elder sister, however, so only encouragement was needed in the present instance.

"Lizzy, I wonder if you have thought any further on the matter we discussed the other night over supper," she began, her eyes on her embroidery. They had breakfasted and now only waited for the arrival of the carriage to take them to Pemberley, which was sure to be on its way back to them after dropping Mr Gardiner at the great house. "About his intentions toward you."

Elizabeth, who had been studiously perusing Mrs Radcliffe's novel again, looked up from the pages at her aunt. "I beg your pardon? I had not been attending."

"I was asking about how you feel about Mr Darcy's attentions," repeated Mrs Gardiner, pulling her thread through the fabric contained within her embroidery hoop as she completed another stitch. The design was coming together nicely. "Surely you have noticed them by now."

The book in her hands lowered to her lap and Elizabeth marked her page with her finger as she contemplated her reply. "I confess, I have. But I am still unsure of his ultimate intentions, Aunt."

"It seems perfectly clear to me, dear."

"But...," Elizabeth hesitated to forward the conversation to its inevitable revelation. "We have some...history between us. It is very awkward."

"That's obvious enough," said Mrs Gardiner, raising her eyes away from her task to fix upon her niece. "Whatever has happened between you, I cannot conjecture, but it seems as if it is giving you some hesitation over accepting his overtures. Has he...imposed upon you?"

"No! Of course not."

"Is he engaged to another?"

"No."

"Did he say anything to make you think that an offer would never be forthcoming?"

"No...well, yes, several times, actually, but...," Elizabeth chewed on her lip as she considered how to proceed. "I believe his opinions have changed over time, though I know that some of them persisted when we met last spring in Kent."

"Oh?" Mrs Gardiner laid her embroidery hoop down and focused her entire attention on Elizabeth. "I had not heard that you spent any time with Mr Darcy outside of Hertfordshire."

Elizabeth marked the page in her book with a scrap of ribbon that she had been using for the office and set it upon the table. She took a deep breath and began to recount some of what had passed between them at Hunsford. "Yes, while I was visiting Charlotte at her new home. Mr Collins, her husband, is the rector of Mr Darcy's aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and he came to stay with her over Easter while I was there. He...we..."

Mrs Gardiner waited patiently for her niece to continue, but Elizabeth faltered. She had told no one, save Jane, about her rejection of Mr Darcy as it was hardly something she was proud of. Now that her feelings toward the man were growing warmer, she regretted hurting him even more, and not just because she had presumably given up any opportunity of becoming his wife in the future. No, now that she understood Mr Darcy so much better, it pained her to think of _him_ in pain and all the more so because she had caused it.

"Yes...?" Mrs Gardiner prompted, breaking a long stretch of silence.

Elizabeth huffed out a breath which fluttered the curls around her face. "He proposed."

Mrs Gardiner's project fell to the floor, its wooden casing clattering against the hardwood. "He _proposed_? But Lizzy, why – "

"I rejected him," Elizabeth admitted, lowering her face to stare at her fiddling hands. They picked at her skirts, folding and unfolding the muslin repeatedly, as she recounted the full tale to her aunt, leaving out nothing. Even Jane had not been privy to the portions which had concerned her failed relationship with Mr Bingley, but there was no reason to hide such from Aunt Gardiner.

When she had finished, Mrs Gardiner looked nothing if not completely astounded. "Well," she finally ventured, shaking her head to dispel the wonder that Elizabeth's rendition had caused, "I hope you have not said any of this to your mother. She would never allow you back home again!"

Elizabeth allowed it to be so with a hearty laugh. Speaking with her aunt often raised her spirits when nothing else would do. "So you see now why I am skeptical about his attentions? What sort of man would propose to the same woman twice?"

"Lizzy, I think you are doing Mr Darcy another disservice in believing him incapable of persistent affections," Mrs Gardiner lightly scolded. She held up her hand, palm first, when Elizabeth opened her mouth to object. "If he truly loves you, as he has previously said he does, then perhaps his feelings are not so changeable as you assume. A man like Mr Darcy might very well be incapable of rescinding his affections once engaged, much like yourself, I suspect. He strikes me as a loyal sort."

Elizabeth agreed that this would be consistent with his personality, yet could not help pointing out that Mr Darcy was famous for his pride. "And would that not prevent him from speaking again?"

"Perhaps," Mrs Gardiner acceded, but continued, "however, I have seen nothing of this pride you have called so abominable in the past. Since I have made Mr Darcy's acquaintance, he has been nothing but gracious and polite, albeit a touch stately which one can hardly blame him for. A man in his position must have a certain amount of dignity. If this behavior is different than he has shown in the past – which, by your description last Christmas, seems to be the case – then perhaps he has found a reason to change since you saw him last." She fixed her niece with a meaningful stare.

"You think he has improved his manners...for me?" Elizabeth could hardly fathom such a thing.

"I have seen men do far more to impress a woman, dearest. If they are serious about her, and Mr Darcy is nothing if not serious, then they often do whatever it takes to achieve acceptance of their suit."

Elizabeth still could not be sure that Mr Darcy had changed his ways for her sake, but a hope was building inside her at the implication. Could he possibly still be in love with her after all that had come between them?

"The true question is," Mrs Gardiner continued, calling Elizabeth's attention back to the conversation at hand, "if Mr Darcy _does _intend to renew his addresses to you, how do you feel about that?"

"I...I am not sure," Elizabeth admitted, which was nothing short of the absolute truth; whatever her feelings toward Mr Darcy, they were a mystery even to her. She pondered the question at some length as her aunt awaited an answer.

What _did_ she feel?

Elizabeth was positive that she felt shame over how she had treated him in the past, regret for the words she had spoken to him in anger and consternation over his seemingly variable personality. Additionally, she still had a lingering suspicion that his current gentlemanly behavior would expire at some later date, but her aunt seemed to believe that there was some permanence to this new version of Mr Darcy – and all due to Elizabeth's influence! Could it be so? Could she have humbled him so in her rejection that it had chased his pride away?

Honestly, the only thing she was certain about was that she was _un_certain; after all their shared history, all the tempestuous arguing and hurt feelings, it was difficult to pin down her emotions for this enigma of a man. However, there was some other...something that lingered beneath the surface of all this negativity between them. She had once read that icebergs are only partially seen above water and that much of their bulk lurks below, huge and hulking in the deep where they cannot be viewed by curious human eyes. Her fascination with Mr Darcy had been much like this; uncomfortable above and something much larger below. All she could be sure of is that she was full of...some emotion regarding him that was powerful and filled her with nervous energy. She couldn't help but feel anxious in his presence, as if she had indulged in too many cups of tea in one sitting, but also...

No, she couldn't put her finger upon it. The iceberg of her emotions remained too deep to fathom for the present moment.

"Do not answer now," Mrs Gardiner interrupted her churning thoughts. "I wish for you to think on it before deciding upon your course. If you think you can love Mr Darcy and accept his hand should he offer it again, I would hope that you would encourage him in his pursuit. If not, I think further invitations to Pemberley should be declined and we should move on to our next destination."

Elizabeth was left to ponder this instruction silently as her aunt got up to look out the window, confirming the imminent arrival of the carriage. She then bustled about the room, collecting together her outerwear and reticule, while her niece examined her feelings for the stoic Master of Pemberley.

What should she do?

o0o

As they traveled down the now familiar road to Pemberley, Elizabeth couldn't help but note that there was significantly more cloud cover than earlier in the morning. They hung low, like a gray wool blanket pulled over one's head to keep out early morning sunlight, and threatened moisture at any time. Should this weather pattern persist, her uncle's much wished for fishing party might be rained out within the hour.

The carriage rumbled on up the drive until it stopped with a sharp jolt, one which Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner had braced themselves for by clutching at the leather straps dangling from the ceiling of their equipage. Only a scant few seconds later, the door was opened by a bowing footman as another reached in to assist the ladies down the lowered steps. She couldn't see the second fellow, but presumed that Mr Darcy's staff was well trained to be nigh invisible even when performing their duties.

Mrs Gardiner was led out first, ducking her head so that her bonnet didn't catch on the frame on her way through, and then Elizabeth was offered a hand as well. She placed her gloved palm upon it and the fingers closed around hers, warm and gentle.

She allowed herself to be guided from the interior of the carriage, lifting her skirts slightly to prevent her slippers getting caught by the hem, and exited with her head lowered against a rogue breeze that threatened to steal away her head wear. Elizabeth prevented its escape with her free hand as she touched down upon the lawn.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said to the footman, habitually polite to all.

"It was my pleasure, Miss Bennet."

The deep rumble of these words were as familiar as the low murmur of far away thunder, hearkening the image of a pair of gray, stormy eyes. Elizabeth looked up with a start. "Mr Darcy!"

Indeed, the Master of Pemberley himself was there to greet them, smiling so faintly that Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure she wasn't imagining it. He still maintained his grip upon her fingers as he said, "Welcome back to Pemberley. I am glad you have arrived before the storm."

Those cloudy eyes of his begged to differ, swirling as they were with as much heavy promise as the rain clouds above, but Elizabeth was well aware of the literal meaning of his statement. "Yes, it seems that your fishing excursion might be in some danger, sir."

Without even bothering to glance toward the sky, Mr Darcy replied, "Quite. I shall return to the lake once I have seen you and your aunt inside to suggest we might prefer to conclude for the day. I fear it will be difficult to tear them away from our sport, however."

Elizabeth cocked a smirk at him, recovered enough from her shock upon seeing him to feel impish once more. "Do gentlemen prefer to fish in the rain?"

Mr Darcy's smile was less disputable now. "Not in general, but it is a favorite activity of Hurst and Bingley will never admit a cloud looks dark enough for rain unless he is already wet."

Elizabeth laughed openly at the notion of Mr Bingley's positivity, which was impossible not to compare with her own sister's invariable optimism. "How very like him! And how convenient it must be to see every day as sunny." And how strangely thrilling it was to be discussing the weather, of all threadbare topics, with this man.

The wind kicked up again and fluttered the brim of her bonnet, which would have flown away had it not been prevented by the ribbon knotted tightly at Elizabeth's throat and the hand which kept it in place. She shivered a touch as the cool, moist air penetrated her spencer and tickled at her skin.

"Lizzy," called Aunt Gardiner above the whoosh of the gale, "I believe we should head inside soon."

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy both turned in the direction of Mrs Gardiner, who stood upon the top step beside Mrs Reynolds, a small but meaningful smirk upon her countenance. The housekeeper, though far too professional to overtly share this expression, watched them in a way that was so carefully neutral that Elizabeth assumed she must be similarly suspicious as was her aunt.

"Ahem, yes, well...," Mr Darcy swiveled his head back in Elizabeth's direction and continued, "shall we, Miss Bennet?"

"Indeed, sir."

With the slightest pressure upon her fingers, Mr Darcy guided Elizabeth up the steps to the stately double doors that would lead them inside the house. Her steps hesitated but a moment with the thought that spirits perhaps awaited her inside, but the steady presence of Mr Darcy counteracted any trepidation she might have experienced; she could never feel anything but safe when standing beside him. Moreover, such silliness needed to be put aside, particularly if she intended to encourage any affections he might still hold for her as she could hardly insist that they live elsewhere should they marry.

They came into the entrance hall where the outerwear of the two ladies was accepted and then absconded with by servants, presumably to some antechamber designated for the purpose. Mrs Reynolds then inquired of her master, "Mr Darcy, will you be sitting down to tea with Miss Darcy and her guests?"

Mr Darcy appeared to ponder this notion, his eyes darting to Elizabeth like clouds skirting across the sky, and at length he began to give his answer. "I suppose..."

At that particular instant, his words were cut off by a familiar shriek of affected laughter and he flinched. All eyes were drawn to the open doorway of a room just off the entrance hall, one Elizabeth recalled to be the saloon from their tour the other day. She sighed as she recalled that Mr Bingley had brought his sisters into Derbyshire with him.

"I think not," Mr Darcy replied, at last, to Mrs Reynolds. "The weather is about to turn and it is necessary to recall the gentlemen indoors. We shall return soon, I hope." Never mind that Mr Darcy had any number of servants at his command who could deliver the message down to the lake for him.

Still, Elizabeth could not blame him for wishing to avoid the notice of Miss Bingley whenever he could manage it. The lady was not especially subtle about her desire to become the mistress of this grand estate and she was likely even more insufferable about it when actually inhabiting Pemberley as a guest. The slight upward curl of his lip said more than enough.

"Do not tarry on our account, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth said kindly, though with just a touch of humor which she could not help. "I am sure my aunt and I shall be well entertained with the ladies."

The relaxation of Mr Darcy's shoulders spoke of his relief. "I thank you, Miss Bennet, Mrs Gardiner."

After bowing over Elizabeth's hand, just shy of brushing a kiss upon it, Mr Darcy exited the entrance hall the way he had come in and the doors were shut behind him.

"Right this way, Ma'am, Miss," Mrs Reynolds said, her hand aloft in the direction of the saloon.

Elizabeth withheld her own grimace at the thought of being in Miss Bingley's and Mrs Hurst's company again and trailed behind the housekeeper as she was led to their destination.

o0o

Inside the saloon, the conversation halted to an immediate stop upon Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner crossing the threshold. The collection of ladies within regarded their arrival with palpable silence which was an odd mixture of friendly and unwelcome. No matter their individual feelings, they all rose in greeting upon the arrival of the newest additions to the room.

Miss Darcy stood to one side with another lady that Elizabeth didn't recognize, but assumed it must be her companion since she was obviously closer to Mrs Gardiner's age than her charge's. She could be a relative, of course, but presumably that would have come up in conversation before now.

The Superior Sisters hovered to the other side, huddled together next to a sofa and whispering to one another as Elizabeth and her aunt Gardiner were announced to the room by the housekeeper. Miss Bingley, in particular, looked quite unhappy to see Elizabeth again, but Mrs Hurst seemed hardly more enthused by her presence. Well, the feeling was certainly mutual.

"G-Good afternoon, Miss Bennet," Miss Darcy said in a voice barely above a whisper, dropping into a curtsy. "Mrs Gardiner. May I present Mrs Annesley to your acquaintance? She is my companion."

The necessary curtsies, introductions and greetings were all exchanged and the newcomers seated themselves in the circle.

At first, no one spoke at all. Then Mrs Annesley, showing better breeding than either of the ladies who had been sent to a private seminary for just such a purpose, ventured on a light topic of conversation to encourage participation by the others. "Mrs Gardiner, I understand that you originally hail from Lambton but are now living in London. Has the area changed much since your residency here?"

Mrs Gardiner responded to this question and its follow ups for several minutes, elaborating upon the differences between her old home and her new one, the changes she had discovered since coming into Derbyshire again for the first time in nearly a decade, and the particulars about her children, who had stayed behind with the Bennets in Hertfordshire for the duration of this trip. Elizabeth ventured a comment here and there, but the conversation was primarily upheld by the two elder ladies. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished to join in, but did not possess the courage to do so. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst kept their lips curled in disdain and ventured nothing at all.

When refreshments were brought in by Mrs Reynolds and a team of maids, the relief was great for Elizabeth. They could not all talk, but they could eat and that seemed to break some of the tension within the room.

As they resettled themselves after being served tea, cakes, seasonal fruits and other delicacies, Elizabeth took the opportunity to address Miss Darcy, hoping to encourage her in socializing as she had the day before at the inn. "So, Miss Darcy, I understand that you are very accomplished at music. I have heard that you play the pianoforte splendidly, but have you learned any other instruments?"

Miss Darcy's smile was tremulous, but genuine, as she responded, "Yes – that is, I cannot say that I am so _very_ accomplished at music, but I am very fond of it. I can also play the harp and hope to begin lessons on the flute when we return to London."

Their conversation seemed to have grabbed the attention of Miss Bingley, who was glaring at Elizabeth from behind Miss Darcy's back from across the room. If the lady felt that Elizabeth was somehow encroaching upon her territory – and it had occurred to Elizabeth of late that much of Miss Bingley's previous dislike of her could be attributed to jealousy over Mr Darcy's attentions, little though she had tried to attract them at the time – that was to be pitied, but she would not neglect Miss Darcy just to ease a social climber's anxiety.

As she continued speaking with Miss Darcy of music – a topic which had produced the astounding result of encouraging the reticent young woman to expound upon her opinions – Miss Bingley rose from her seat next to her sister and glided toward them, her teacup balanced upon the saucer in her hand.

"So, Miss Eliza," said Miss Bingley, interrupting Elizabeth as she described Mary's eagerness to play for company, "I understand that you have been on an extended tour with your...relations this summer." She directed a sneer toward Mrs Gardiner, who sat apart with Mrs Annesley discussing something familiar to them both. "Have you been away from Hertfordshire long?"

Determined to be more polite than her self-appointed adversary, Elizabeth smiled and turned away from Miss Darcy to respond. "Indeed, we have been traveling since June, Miss Bingley. It has been a lovely trip full of many interesting sights."

"And I am sure you have seen many of them on foot," quipped the lady in return, the simper in her voice at odds with the smirk on her face. "Have you ruined many hems since leaving home?"

Elizabeth was inclined to laugh aloud at Miss Bingley's attempt to discompose her, but held it in with effort. If the woman thought that "Miss Eliza" would suddenly become embarrassed by her countrified habits, she was sorely mistaken. "Only the usual amount. We have been lucky to have dry weather since entering Derbyshire." A distant rumble of thunder indicated that this streak was about to be broken, however.

Miss Bingley kept her eyes trained on Elizabeth, though several of the other ladies looked up to the ceiling or out toward the window as the sky grumbled, tittering about what the noise portended for the fishing party still out by the lake. Mr Darcy, judging from his lengthened absence, had apparently been correct in the assumption that the other gentlemen would not be so easily dragged from their amusement. "How fortunate. I can see from your color that you have been enjoying the sun very much."

Elizabeth accepted that it was so, admitting further, "I have, as you know, a great love of the outdoors. They have tempted me a great deal on our trip."

Apparently feeling that this vein of conversation was not helping her at all, Miss Bingley switched tactics. "And your family at home? I trust they are well? The last I saw of them, they were very...energetic, particularly around the officers." Miss Bingley's smile grew as her eyes narrowed, watching Elizabeth stiffen at the new topic. "I have heard that the militia has been quartered at Brighton for the summer; that must be a great loss for _your_ family."

"We are dealing with the disappointment as best we can, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth replied, hoping that the other woman would not venture into territory painful to their hostess. Miss Darcy watched their conversation, seeming to not quite understand the tension between her two guests, as Elizabeth and Miss Bingley battered back and forth.

"Yes, quite. Though I understood there were certain members of the regiment who made themselves _particularly agreeable_ to the ladies of Meryton. Was there not one you were fond of?" Miss Bingley asked her question with the air of one who already knows the answer and only wishes to hear it from another.

Well, Elizabeth was not about to indulge her when the man to which she referred was the foul fiend who had trampled upon the heart of her sensitive new friend. Mr Wickham was a verboten topic, one which even Miss Bingley would not have dared to broach had she been aware that Miss Darcy would have been injured by the mere mention of his name.

"I cannot imagine who you mean," Elizabeth said before shifting back round to Miss Darcy, effectively closing the conversation in Miss Bingley's face like the slamming of a door. She could not see the other woman's expression, but could only imagine that it would be sour. "Tell me, Miss Darcy, have you heard about the ghost that supposedly haunts Pemberley's lake? We have been told that it is quite the local legend."

"How ridiculous! Ghosts," Miss Bingley said with a sniff, throwing herself back into the dialogue before Miss Darcy could respond. "Superstitious nonsense spread by servants."

"Actually...," Miss Darcy ventured, eyes darting back and forth between the two members of her audience. "I have heard a story like that."

The eyes of Elizabeth and Miss Bingley fixed themselves upon Miss Darcy as she fidgeted in her embroidered chair. "Truly?" the former queried, a little astonished that her change in subject had not been laughed off as ridiculous, as had been Miss Bingley's inclination.

"Oh, yes, I heard about it from Cook, who has worked at Pemberley since she was a girl. She knows everything about this house, possibly even more than Mrs Reynolds," Miss Darcy affirmed with an earnest nod of her head.

"Miss Darcy," Mrs Annesley broke in, a note of sternness in her voice, "I am not sure that this is an appropriate topic for company."

"Oh, but it is such a romantic story," Miss Darcy rebutted, warming to her topic as she had to the discussion of music previously. Elizabeth had never seen the girl so animated. "Please let me tell it."

Mrs Annesley still looked unconvinced. "It is not the sort of thing one discusses at tea."

"I am sure there is no harm in telling a local tale," defended Elizabeth, rather eager to hear more about this supposed ghost of Pemberley. "In Meryton, we have our own story of a ghostly goat who is known to eat stockings which have not been properly put away. It only ever steals one, however, leaving a lot of mismatched pairs behind."

Most of the party laughed, save Miss Bingley and her sister. Mrs Hurst, however, Elizabeth was quite sure, hid a smile behind her fan.

"Very well," Mrs Annesley acceded, nodding to her charge to continue.

Miss Darcy began her tale with a relish that reminded Elizabeth of Lydia, though her voice was much quieter in the telling. "Well, this occurred so very long ago that no one is quite sure when it happened, though I suppose it must have been sometime in the last three hundred years because Pemberley did not exist before that. In any event, it begins with a love affair between the young lady of the manor and a gentleman that her parents did not approve of. The young lady loved her beau so much that she was willing to elope and so they made plans to meet at midnight by the lake, telling no one what they intended."

Elizabeth cringed a little, considering that this story had perhaps painted a romantic portrait of elopement which, in turn, could have influenced Miss Darcy's poor decision in regards to her own close call. Had she seen herself as the lonely maiden of the manor and Mr Wickham as her devoted suitor?

Another roll of thunder grumbled from far off, though closer than before.

"However," Miss Darcy continued, apparently seeing no reflection in her own behavior, "the groom never arrived to collect his bride. Heartbroken, the young lady flung herself into the water and drowned, unable to carry on without her dearest love. The next morning, she was discovered missing from her room and a search was organized, but it was too late; she was already gone. Her parents, not knowing how she ended up in the lake, assumed that it must have been a terrible accident and she was put to rest in the family vault. Now, they say that her restless spirit remains, roaming the house and grounds searching for her lost lover." She sighed wistfully as she finished her tale.

Suddenly, in a deluge of disturbing clarity, Elizabeth began to wonder if Mr Wickham had not been familiar with this Pemberley legend himself and used it to his advantage when convincing Miss Darcy to run off with him. Were that the case, not that it could ever be proven, he would be even more despicable than anyone had ever thought! His machinations against a tender hearted young girl still enamored of fairy stories and supernatural tales were nothing if not disgusting.

"Do you think it could be true, Miss Bennet?" asked Miss Darcy, her naturally soft voice quivering with excitement. "If it were, how tragic and romantic!"

Elizabeth, observing the warm flush and sparkle of pleasure in Miss Darcy's eyes, could not help but feel a surge of fondness for the young girl who, in spite of her own failed elopement, still held a sense of romance that had not been diminished by the selfish actions of Mr Wickham. He couldn't take that from her.

Smiling, Elizabeth said simply, "Perhaps. I suppose we will never know."

In her opinion, the story itself was incredibly silly, when one considered it closely. It was more than a little fanciful, probably derived from the plot of a bad novel, and honestly made little sense at all. If the lovers had told no one of their pact, how had the story been passed down? Why did the young woman drown herself before ascertaining what had happened to her groom? It seemed a touch precipitous to take such an irreversible step without knowing if he had been unable to come due to an unforeseen and reasonable factor. What if he had simply been delayed and had been on his way? Perhaps the heroine of this tale had been a fan of _Romeo and Juliet_ and had taken their melodramatic ending to heart. Moreover, what _had_ happened to the groom to prevent him from meeting up with his bride at the prearranged time? The story didn't reveal his fate at all.

Elizabeth made a mental note to tell Lydia and Kitty this tale when she returned to Hertfordshire; they would vastly enjoy it and see nothing amiss in the plot at all. To them, a beautiful maiden flinging herself to her doom would be a poetic end to a tragically romantic story. Jane, of course, would feel pity for the unhappily divided couple and Mary, only slightly more romantic than Charlotte Collins, would blame the poor girl for being so improper. Elizabeth supposed she would be the only one amongst the five Bennet sisters who would, taking the absurdities into account, find any amusement in it at all.

The other ladies in the circle had various reactions to the legend, none of which seemed to parallel Elizabeth's. Mrs Gardiner's was probably the closest to her own – humor – but Mrs Annesley was clearly maintaining her previous disapproval. No doubt, in light of Miss Darcy's own recent history, a tale about a failed elopement ending in tragic suicide she felt that such discourse should be avoided. Elizabeth better understood Mrs Annesley's reluctance to speak of such things now that she was aware of the content of the legend.

Miss Bingley, true to her own character, scoffed at the young lady in the story. "Who would give up Pemberley for some penniless nobody?" she exclaimed.

Mrs Hurst nodded in agreement, also in sync with her usual practices. "So true, so true."

All of them, however, were invested enough in the story to jolt visibly when a loud crash of thunder sounded from overhead, rattling the walls. Moments later, the whoosh of a sudden sheet of rain descended upon the roof.

"My goodness!" cried out Mrs Hurst, huddling closer to her sister.

Miss Darcy was looking around the room with wide, frightened eyes as if she had brought the storm upon them with her story. Elizabeth patted her on the hand and, leaning close, whispered "Do not worry, Miss Darcy. I doubt that you have stirred up any spirits; the clouds have been looking rather ominous since I arrived earlier this afternoon." The girl looked positively relieved by this communication.

Elizabeth then stood up and ventured to the windows on the far side of the room and peered out into the storm as lightning flashed above. She could see it reflected upon the lake which had, supposedly, swallowed up one of the Darcy ancestors in a fit of despair. "It is quite coming down out there," she reported, though she supposed her observation was not necessary.

"Indeed, I have never seen it come down so hard!"

"And it began so quickly."

"I do hope that the gentlemen have returned to the house..."

Well, at least they were back to safer topics like the weather.

_**BAM!**_

At this latest intrusion upon their gathering, several of the ladies shrieked in surprise. Elizabeth, having grown quite used to these startling moments of late, immediately swiveled to look at the french doors leading in from the outside. In trouped the men, soaked to the skin and dripping mud onto the clean carpets, having rushed indoors out of the storm.

"It is raining buckets out there!" announced Mr Bingley cheerfully as he splattered droplets everywhere. Clearly, even when sunny weather was as debatable as it currently was, he maintained his amiable optimism. Elizabeth smiled at the thought.

Mr Hurst stepped past his brother-in-law and tromped through the room without acknowledging anyone, even his wife. Mrs Hurst scolded him anyway for frightening them all half to death, little though he seemed to hear her. He was gone within seconds out into the hallway and, presumably, upstairs to his assigned chambers.

Mr Gardiner laughed as his own wife fussed over him, assuring her, "Now, Maddie, a little summer shower never hurt anyone. I shall be _right as rain_, you'll see." He winked at her.

"Oh, Edward, that was terrible!" Mrs Gardiner playfully scolded.

Elizabeth looked at the assembled men and noticed that one of their party was absent. She queried, a little fretfully, "Where is Mr Darcy? Surely he was with you."

"Him?" replied Mr Gardiner, still in the mood to tease. "I am sure he's gone for another swim. Do not worry, Lizzy."

Elizabeth scowled at her uncle, feeling it was hardly the time to joke, and Mr Bingley stepped in to resolve the mystery. "He's on his way, Miss Elizabeth. He sent us on ahead and stayed behind to see to one of the servants, who had slipped and fallen into the mud."

"Why should Mr Darcy do such a thing?" Miss Bingley demanded, rushing over to the window to peer out, though visibility was extremely low. "The clumsy oaf should be more careful and not expect his master to risk his own health for his sake."

Mr Bingley frowned at his younger sister. "That's hardly how it was, Caroline. The man had an accident and Darcy was the one closest to render aid. I would like to think I would do the same."

"Oh, Charles..."

Elizabeth ignored the squabbling siblings and squinted out into the haze of rain beyond the window. Surely Mr Darcy would return soon, and safely.

A gong rang from somewhere deeper within the household, causing all who still loitered within the parlor to look away from the storm raging outside the windows and toward the open door to the hallway.

"Oh my, is it so late already?" Miss Bingley asked, her attention wrenched away from the soggy fate of Mr Darcy. Turning to Elizabeth with that condescending smile she adopted whenever she intended to reveal some tidbit about the fashionable world that she supposed her subject did not already comprehend, she continued, "All the best houses have dinner gongs, Eliza. It is the signal for the members of the household and their guests to retire to dress."

"Thank you, Miss Bingley. I shall make a note of it," Elizabeth replied as her gaze was drawn back to the window. Where had their host gone?

"Ahem," Miss Darcy coughed demurely to bring focus to herself, though she blushed to receive it. "Miss Bennet, I understand that all of your clothing is still at the inn. If you please, I can loan you a gown for dinner..."

Elizabeth could feel that her smile was a touch weaker than she generally presented, but she accepted Miss Darcy's kindness. "That would be most helpful, thank you."

"Please, follow me. I shall see you installed in a chamber where you might change..."

Elizabeth glanced once more outside at the turbulent weather, sending her best wishes to the health and safety of the absent Mr Darcy, and followed her young hostess upstairs.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Not quite how I originally pictured it, but...well, that sometimes happens as you write. For now, I'm going with it. It turned out longer than anticipated, too; over 12,000 words, dang. Also, I fret that Mr Gardiner is a bit too much like Mr Bennet, but I need him that way to further the plot in places. Forgive me.

Thank you readers! I appreciate all the compliments and enthusiasm I've received so far. Had I gotten any constructive criticism, I would have appreciated that, too, but I won't quibble over positive comments, lolz. Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed and/or followed this story.

On that note, EXCELLENT NEWS! I'm ahead of myself with writing/editing this story so I'm going to accelerate my posting schedule. Instead of once per month, it will be every two weeks, culminating with a BONUS chapter on Halloween. Upcoming HIATUS in November because my family and I are moving into our first house in early/mid December – yay!

**Next Update:** September 23, 2019  
**Expected Completion:** October 31, 2019; _Happy Halloween! Muahahahaha..._ ; )

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	3. Chapter Three (Clean)

**Title:** A Haunting at Pemberley  
**Rating: **T (PG-13) – for spooky good fun and hints of sexuality (non-explicit).  
**Disclaimer:** Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved._  
_**Setting:** Regency

**Summary:** Trapped at Pemberley during a storm, a nervous Elizabeth can't help but wonder – are the stories true? Is the great house haunted? When she races out into the hallway in a fright, she bumps into Mr Darcy...

Who ya gonna call?

There are three – count 'em, _three_ – versions of this chapter. This one is clean, the next MA 18+ and the final an alternate "Squeaky Clean" ending which features no premarital sex at all. Consider this a "pick your own adventure," I guess.

_**Please Note:**_ Next up is the MA 18+ version of this chapter if you are at all interested. You miss out on no element of the plot by reading the clean version instead, only one particular scene that I chose to cut here. Since so many of the JAFF community prefer clean content, yet there is no shortage of those who prefer it a little dirty, I chose to do both and cover all bases. The "Squeaky Clean" version I wrote specifically for the DarcyandLizzy Forum in deference to their rules regarding premarital sex in Regency variations, so it is a true alternate ending, though much of it will still be familiar.

* * *

_Chapter Three (Clean)_

Miss Darcy, as had been apparent at first glance, was rather taller and a touch more broad than Elizabeth herself and so the lovely evening gown so graciously loaned to her dragged the floor as she walked. She attempted to alleviate this condition by gathering fistfuls of extra fabric and lifting it upwards, thus freeing her feet to walk unencumbered, but there was still a slight train of white that followed Elizabeth everywhere. She hoped that she would not ruin the dress before she could remove it again.

Elizabeth paused to check her appearance in the mirror above her dressing table before she descended to dinner. She appeared pale and fretful, but her hair had been neatly coiffed by Miss Darcy's lady's maid – another generous loan – and she was swathed in richer fabrics than she was generally accustomed to. The dress was a simplistic sheathe of pure white, perfect for a protected maiden such as the genteel and delicate Miss Georgiana Darcy, yet not quite right for Elizabeth herself. Perhaps it was because she was several years older than the girl who owned the garment in question, or it might be the greater knowledge of herself and the world she had gained over the past year in her interactions with Mr Darcy.

"Or," she admitted to her reflection with a laugh, tugging at the snug bodice to rearrange her...self, "maybe it's just too tight!"

Thoughts of Mr Darcy, who at last report was still missing out in the swirling tempest that had descended upon Pemberley, dropped the smile from her face in an instant. She hoped that he was well...

_Creeeeeeeeeak_.

Elizabeth looked to the door that would open out into the hallway, her increasingly wary mind checking to be sure that it was as closed as the maid had left it before returning to Miss Darcy. The portal remained sealed and she released a tense breath.

Spooked a little by the noise and her own thoughts, Elizabeth decided that it was time to go down to dinner, ready or not. Even Miss Bingley would be welcome company when compared to the specters that supposedly haunted these hallowed halls.

"Then again, perhaps not," she muttered to herself as she turned the knob and released herself into the corridor.

Outside her assigned chamber, all was as quiet as it should be. There was no one about, the other guests having noisily passed by her door already as she finished stuffing her bosom into her dress; even the servants had apparently found work elsewhere. The only sound apparent to her ears was the soft pitter-patter of her own slippers upon the carpet.

Pit-pat-sqsh, pit-pat-sqush, pit-pat-sqush.

Elizabeth halted in the middle of the corridor, arrested there by the sound of approaching footsteps. There was something a little strange about them; they sounded a little...wet, like whenever she tracked muddy boots through the kitchen at Longbourn.

Her imagination seized upon the image of a ghastly pale figure, dripping wet and stalking the hallways as if she still lived. A chill suddenly accosted her, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.

Elizabeth shook the notion away and scurried forward, intent on making the stairs quickly and returning to the comfort of people down below. The hem of her borrowed gown hissed against the weave of the carpet as it skimmed over the floor at an accelerated pace. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, refusing to even so much as glance at a door or window as she passed them. If she could but –

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, colliding into something solid with a wet smack and bouncing backwards. She tumbled and fell onto her backside, her pale skirts flaring around her as she descended to the floor and resettling around her in haphazard fashion.

"Miss Bennet! Forgive me, I was not attending to where I was going. Are you injured?"

Elizabeth raised her eyes to behold Mr Darcy, once more soaked to the skin by misadventure, hovering over her like a sopping wet statue come to life. He looked most startled to see her crumpled upon the floor at his feet.

"I am quite well, sir, but I thank you for your concern," she replied, feeling her face warm in a blush. She placed a hand upon her heaving bosom, directly over her rapidly beating heart, and encouraged herself to calm silently.

Mr Darcy still loomed before her and she could not help a covert peek at him from beneath the veil of her lashes. He really was quite handsome in every situation, she could not deny it. With his nearly black hair mussed by wind and rain, his clothing hugged as closely to his person as absolutely possible and his towering height, he looked like a dark Gothic hero torn from the pages of a novel.

His eyes, too, appeared to be lost in study, though his subject was her; she could practically feel the cool gray gaze whispering over her skin, even on the parts of her that were covered by clothing, as he scanned her from top to toe. When they reached her feet, they rested there and she followed his gaze.

"Oh!" she cried out, mortified, as she rushed to cover her ankles with the drape of her skirts. He hadn't seen an excessive amount, only about halfway up her calf, but it was still more than any other man had ever seen of her person and it was hardly ladylike to allow anyone besides her husband the privilege.

"I-I beg your pardon," Mr Darcy apologized, darting his eyes away from her exposure as she corrected her clothing.

"No, I should apologize, sir," she disputed, feeling distinctly warm in his presence. "I should have been more aware of where I was going and – "

She stopped as she felt him kneel down next to her and place a tentative hand on her shoulder; he was careful to only touch that which was covered by silk. "I should have not allowed you to fall. Had I behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner – " He stopped himself there and they both looked away as the pain of old memories rose to the surface of their minds.

Elizabeth broke the awkward silence that had sprung up between them a long moment later with a hesitating laugh. "Mr Darcy, I believe we shall miss dinner if we sit here arguing over who is most at fault in this situation. I think it more expedient to simply agree to share the blame. Yes?"

Their gazes made contact again and he smiled. "If I must."

"I insist!" she replied, a more genuine chuckle escaping her this time. "Now, if you would be so kind as to assist me to my feet, I may go downstairs and deliver the good news of your safe return to the house. Why, pray tell, were you out for so long in this dreadful weather?"

Mr Darcy stood and extended both of his hands for her to take. She did so and he hefted Elizabeth to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. "I was not out in this for so very long, actually. I helped young Gordon to the stables where he could be tended to and then attempted to wait out the downpour. When it seemed I would either have to brave the elements again or sleep in a pile of hay, I made a run for it."

Elizabeth, a little flustered to be so close to him after he'd pulled her into a standing position, took a step back and clasped her hands at her waist. She struggled to minimize the discomfort in her voice as she said, "Well, you look as if you have been swimming in the lake again! We really must stop meeting like this, sir."

"I suppose you are correct, Miss Bennet," he agreed, swiping his fingers through his dripping curls. When he dropped his arm back to his side, his hair remained slicked back away from his face, making his cheekbones more prominent than ever before. His eyes were strikingly pale in contrast. "I would escort you downstairs, but I fear I am hardly presentable."

"I forgive you, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth teased, dropping her gaze as she felt suddenly bashful. "I shall make your excuses when I arrive down there myself."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet."

o0o

"Well, I say that we should not hold dinner for _her_ sake," Miss Bingley's voice floated out of the open drawing room door into the corridor as Elizabeth approached it, careful not to tread on the length of skirt which exceeded her height. Now that Mr Darcy was returned safely to the house, her amusement at the lady's expense had returned and she bit her lip against the assault of laughter bubbling up within her chest. The presumptuous woman spoke as if she were already mistress of the house! "Guests should be courteous enough to their hosts to arrive downstairs _on time_ for a meal. Perhaps her countrified manners are too lax for the fashionable world."

"_You_ have only been downstairs for the past five minutes, Caroline," Mr Bingley's voice rose in Elizabeth's defense. How very like him. "I think we can grant Miss Elizabeth a few more minutes leeway. Moreover, it is not even half past six yet."

Miss Bingley did not respond to this, but Elizabeth could imagine the haughty expression on her face as if it were before her. The lady's nose would be tipped upwards into the air, of course, and her eyelids would be half-lidded in a show of affected boredom as she gazed off into the middle distance. And her mouth, those thin, pale lips, would be pressed together into a firm line. Overall, she would give the impression of a finicky cat refusing to acknowledge a dead mouse.

Elizabeth entered the room in a swish of silk and was greeted by most with warm cordiality. Miss Bingley and the Hursts were the only exceptions; the Superior Sisters had both adopted identical airs of long suffering impatience over her supposed tardiness and Mr Hurst showed no interest at all. If she were not mistaken, he appeared to be dozing in his chair.

"Lizzy! There you are," called Aunt Gardiner, patting the seat on the sofa next to hers. "I had wondered if you had gotten lost."

"Not at all, Aunt," Elizabeth replied, accepting her invitation to sit. "I happened to encounter Mr Darcy in the hallway upstairs as he was returning to his chambers. He bid me to inform you all that he is very well, although very _wet_, and that he would be down directly after changing his clothing."

Mr Gardiner's shoulders shook with unexpressed laughter. "Been swimming with the spirits again, eh?"

"Hardly, Uncle," Elizabeth replied, her own irrepressible smile appearing on her lips, "but I admit that he looks as if he might have. He claims to have taken temporary shelter in the stables, though he made the debatable decision to make a run for the house when he realized that the rain was not about to let up tonight."

"'Swimming with the spirits again'?" Miss Darcy, surprisingly, spoke up. When the eyes of the room turned upon her, she blushed and looked down at her hands, which were fiddling with one another in her lap.

"Did he not tell you?" Elizabeth asked, vastly amused.

Miss Darcy shook her head. "Tell me what?"

"Why, the other day when we were touring Pemberley..."

Miss Darcy and most of the other guests seemed to enjoy Elizabeth's retelling of her inauspicious reunion with her host, told with great animation and humor. Mr Bingley openly guffawed at his friend's expense as Mr Gardiner added little asides to her tale, amusing details Elizabeth either forgot or glossed over, and added greatly to its hilarity. His wife shook her head and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, but there was a thin smile upon her features that belied her exasperation. Mrs Annesley hid a grin behind her fan and Georgiana, likely used to considering her brother as a paragon of all that was proud and serious, kept both hands cupped over her mouth as if she could physically contain her laughter. Even Mr Hurst woke from his stupor to comment, "I say, do you suppose he was attempting to catch his next meal with his bare hands?" which earned him some general laughter.

"Certainly not."

All eyes turned to the open doorway to find Mr Darcy standing within it, framed by its contours. His expression was rather grim.

Elizabeth bit her lip, having only considered for the first time that Mr Darcy, so unused to being teased, might not appreciate having their shared embarrassing experience canvassed amongst the company. Was he angry?

She glanced around the room and saw matching looks of trepidation on Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley, chagrined smiles on the gentlemen present, another shake of the head from her aunt and on the Superior Sisters, both of whom had been vociferously offended on Mr Darcy's behalf, a shared look and matching smirks. They all turned their attention to Mr Darcy and awaited the set down that was surely coming.

"I was trying to catch it with my teeth."

The drawing room was silent for a long moment as Mr Darcy's jest was absorbed by all present. Then, almost as one, the company began to laugh. Even Mrs Hurst joined in initially, until censored by a sharp glare from her sister.

Elizabeth turned her eyes to Mr Darcy and clamped her lips together, though she knew that her mirth was bubbling up out of her eyes. Upon his own face, a smile was sprouting as he returned her gaze. She felt a bashful flush rise in her cheeks as they continued to look at one another for some extended seconds.

"A_hem_," a stiff voice interrupted, "dinner is served." The butler stood just behind Mr Darcy, bowed at the waist as he made his announcement.

"Speaking of," murmured Mr Darcy loud enough for the company to hear, earning a few more chuckles. "Shall we?"

All the occupants of the room rose, each of the gentlemen offering his escort to at least one lady, and they proceeded out into the corridor toward the dining room. Miss Bingley hovered by the doorway, clearly waiting for Mr Darcy's arm, and watching as he instead approached Elizabeth.

"Miss Bennet, may I have the honor of escorting you in to dinner?" Mr Darcy requested with a bow.

Elizabeth gathered a portion of her long skirts in one fist and placed her other hand upon his proffered arm. "I would be delighted, sir."

Hearing a snort from across the room, Elizabeth peeked over Mr Darcy's shoulder to see Miss Bingley's turned back as she left the room with her nose in the air. Apparently, she would have Mr Darcy's undivided attention or nothing at all.

"I suppose at dinner you will be telling all and sundry about my dishabille above stairs next?" Mr Darcy asked, bringing Elizabeth's focus back to where it belonged. He was still smiling, so she accepted his query as sporting.

"Not at all, sir," she denied, feeling quite impish, indeed. "I was going to ask you for some advice on fishing."

o0o

"So, Mr Darcy, what have you to say about these stories we have been hearing since we arrived in Lambton? Are the hallowed halls of Pemberley truly haunted?" Mr Gardiner asked as he carved his delectably tender slice of beef into bite sized pieces. He placed one into his mouth and sighed in appreciation for the flavor.

Mr Darcy raised his head away from Elizabeth on his left, with whom he had been indulging in quiet conversation on various subjects, and fixed her uncle with a quizzical expression. "I beg your pardon?"

"We have heard from two separate sources," Mr Gardiner, seated on his other side, continued, flicking a glance to a clearly embarrassed Miss Darcy, "about how this great house is supposedly afflicted with various spirits. What say you, sir?"

Elizabeth wished to melt into the floor. Had her silly mother been present, she could not have asked a more mortifying question. Likely excessively vulgar, but not more mortifying. She resisted the urge to bury her face between her hands and instead focused on the delicious food she no longer wished to eat.

"I have heard several such stories, but they are all rubbish," Mr Darcy replied succinctly. "I have resided here my entire life, save for those years I was away at school or university, and have never seen anything that I would consider supernatural. The villagers tend to be superstitious."

After swallowing his bite, Mr Gardiner countered, "Then how do you explain what happened to our Lizzy the other day just before we fished you from the lake, eh?"

Elizabeth could feel Mr Darcy's scrutiny burning into her scalp, but she refused to look at him, even when he asked, "Happened? What happened to Eli – Miss Bennet?"

"It was nothing," she tried to deny, raising her head to affix him with a smile she hoped was charming. "This sauce is divine, Mr Darcy. Might I take the recipe home to Cook at Longbourn? I know my father would enjoy it."

"Why, she was chased around the house by ghosts, sir!" Mr Gardiner continued as if she had not spoken at all. His tone was infused with jolly amusement.

"'Ghosts,' Miss Eliza?" Miss Bingley broke in from midway down the table where she had been sitting in sullen silence so far. Now her face was split with a smirk at Elizabeth's expense. "Perhaps you should try speaking to a physician rather than the dead."

"I never claimed to see a ghost, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth reminded her with a touch of asperity. The lady raised her eyebrow slightly, increasing the overall smugness of her expression.

"But something did happen during your tour of Pemberley, Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy interrupted, returning the attention of all to his end of the table.

Elizabeth averted her eyes to her plate and speared a potato with her fork. "Not at all, sir. My uncle exaggerates."

"Come now, Lizzy," Mr Gardiner persisted, "it is hardly something to be so missish about! You remember that she was alone when she stumbled across you in the lake, yes?" he said this to Mr Darcy, who nodded, a small frown upon his lips and brow. "Well, she had become separated from us after our visit to your excellent gallery. While there, apparently, a door opened of its own accord and a window within the same room slammed itself shut and then would not open again. All likely caused by some mischievous wind." Well, at least he had left out the part about the Bible in the master's study.

"I see," said Mr Darcy, turning back to Elizabeth. "I apologize, Miss Bennet, if such events gave you a fright. I shall see to the maintenance of my doors and windows immediately."

"It was nothing," Elizabeth repeated with some vehemence, drawing a scowl upon her face and directing it at Mr Gardiner. "Truly, as my uncle has said, it was likely nothing more than the wind. I am sure there is nothing amiss in your lovely house, Mr Darcy."

"Of course not! Pemberley is perfection itself," interjected Miss Bingley and the subject turned to flattering her host and all his possessions. She was largely ignored by the party; even Mrs Hurst, her staunchest supporter, only listened to her monologue with one ear.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy resumed their conversation from earlier, but her embarrassment over the silly matter of her misadventure put rather a damper on her enthusiasm. She wished she could simply laugh off her humiliation as he had, but she felt so conscious in his presence since reuniting with him that it was difficult for her to do so.

Then again, she supposed that it was silly of her to hold onto her mortification when he hadn't and vowed to make more of an effort to overcome it. With that in mind, she took a breath and joked, "Pemberley may not be haunted, but I assure you that Longbourn_ is_. Sir, while you were in Hertfordshire did any of the locals happen to tell you the tale of the ghostly goat?"

Mr Darcy's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter and his enigmatic smile grew until it was a grin. "I cannot say I have had that pleasure."

"Well, it all began when my great-great-Granny Bennet put out her wash one fine day..."

o0o

Elizabeth lay in bed that night listening to the thunder grumble above her like a grumpy old man. The storm had largely worn itself out, but there were still occasional flashes of weak lightning or smatterings of rain against the windowpane. It was only minutes til midnight and still Elizabeth could not sleep.

Perhaps it was all this talk of ghosts, or even her own ridiculous experience from the other day, but she was suspicious of every noise, whether it be a footstep in the corridor or a gust of wind brushing against the house. She was spooked, though loathe to admit it.

With a sigh, Elizabeth kicked her covers off and raised herself into a sitting position. She readjusted the shoulder of her nightgown again – the troublesome thing kept slipping down her arm – and huffed at her own foolishness. How could she have gotten herself so caught up in ghost stories? Spirits _did not exist_ and, even if they did, she certainly had never seen one, strange coincidences aside. If only she could take a walk to clear her head...

"Well, why not?" she said to the darkness. She could always pace the halls a little bit, so long as she was careful not to wander too far. Walking was the only thing that ever truly helped her calm her distress and, though it was always most effective out of doors surrounded by nature, she had been known to circle the house at home when that was not an option. Pemberley would be even more suited to the task since it was so much larger; she would surely disturb no one, even if it were the middle of the night.

Then again, perhaps it was not the best idea to go wandering around an unfamiliar estate in the middle of the night with no guide. She could get lost and never make it back to her room, which would be a rather unseemly end to her visit when she was discovered wandering the halls alone in the morning wearing her nightclothes. Perhaps she should simply pace around her chambers?

Still undecided, yet eager to move regardless, Elizabeth lowered her feet to the floor and stood. She picked up the long train of her nightgown – another overly large loan from Miss Darcy – and padded over to the vanity where she had left her candle. With a strike of flint, a flame was sparked and the room was awash in a warm glow.

She picked up her refreshed light source and rose from her bent position, catching a glimpse of her own reflection as she straightened. Sheathed in fine white cotton, her face half-shaded in the glow of the candle, she nearly looked as if _she_ were haunting the place.

A flicker of movement caught her attention and Elizabeth's vision latched onto the source in the mirror. Her heart seized – she wasn't alone.

Over her shoulder, Elizabeth could see a tall figure draped in white looming in the background against the far wall. It was a lady, if Elizabeth had to guess, and her long, silvery hair fell down to her waist, framing a deathly pale face. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating her bedchamber in stark white light, and she disappeared for an instant, only to reappear when the room returned to shadow.

Elizabeth gasped and whirled around, her shaking hand losing its grip upon the candelabra. Her torch fell to the floor and extinguished itself just as her eyes locked upon the spot where she was expecting to find the mysterious lady; the entire chamber was pitched into darkness.

The only things Elizabeth could hear were the hard pitter-pattering of her own heart, the harsh rasp of her quickened breath and the low vibration from the sky above. If there was another person in the room with her, they were completely silent and did not make their presence known to her.

"H-Hello?" she called out. There was no answer.

Another flash of lightning brightened the room for a split second, confirming that she was alone. A sharp chill was her only companion. Had she imagined it? Her mind, so saturated by ghost stories of late, might have conjured a specter from her mind.

That surely was it, but she was far too frightened to remain another moment. Without even donning her robe or slippers, Elizabeth picked up the hem of her nightgown and raced to the door, flinging it open and practically throwing herself out into the hallway. She stumbled a little at the threshold, but did not stop.

o0o

Some time later, Elizabeth finally halted her mad dash from her room to rest against a convenient wall, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath. She closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow its rapid beating before it burst from her ribs. Slowly, and with much concentration, Elizabeth calmed.

Clutching at the neckline of her gown, which was sliding ever lower and would soon slip from her form entirely were she not careful to hold it up, Elizabeth raised her lids to look about her and determine where her flight had taken her. She was in a corridor that looked somewhat familiar, though she wasn't positive that it truly was or if all the internal pathways at Pemberley simply bore resemblance to one another. She wasn't in the guest wing any longer, that much was for certain, and she did not remember taking any stairs to the lower floor, but that only narrowed down her position slightly. She was somewhat concerned about becoming lost, but she was still a touch too frightened by the workings of her imagination – for that was the only explanation for what she thought she had seen in the mirror – to return to her assigned chambers. Thus, Elizabeth decided to proceed with her exploration for the moment and then retrace her steps once she had gathered the courage to go back to bed.

It was rather dark in the hall, but there was a line of windows to one side that let in some light. She walked over to the nearest one and peered out, confirming that the clouds above were clearing and that the full moon was peeking out to cast a silver glow upon the landscape. The magnificent orb glittered upon the surface of the lake, reminding Elizabeth of the young bride who had supposedly drowned there. Had that been the specter in the mirror...?

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously to dispel the ridiculous thought, reminding herself harshly, "It was not _real_, Lizzy. You were imagining things." Still, the concept would not leave her and she crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the chill that gripped her.

She began drifting down the hallway again, the hem of her nightgown whispering across the carpet as she strolled, awash in the glow of cool moonlight. Her dark curls, loosened from their braid, draped across her shoulders like a shawl and fell past her waist. The dark mass of her hair fanned out behind her in the breeze created by her motion. "I must look very much like a spirit myself," she mused, weakly smiling at the idea.

Elizabeth felt a touch better at this amusing thought and cast her gaze about her surroundings, searching for any hints as to her location. There was a large landscape upon the wall facing the windows depicting rolling golden fields at harvest time, dotted with servants hacking away at them with scythes. A little further down, between the landscape and another painting of fruit, was a marble bust that sported Mr Darcy's nose. She was in the gallery!

The moon was of great assistance to her perusal of the artwork scattered along the walls as she searched for one portrait in particular. Elizabeth knew that it was about midway down the line, placed in prominence so that all visitors would be sure to see it during their tour, and she felt that she must be close...

There! Up ahead was the grand portrait of the current Master of Pemberley. Elizabeth gripped her skirts within both hands and lifted them out of the way of her feet as she scampered more quickly toward the image of her Mr Darcy.

Well, perhaps not _her_ Mr Darcy, but the one she knew personally. Not personally, but –

'_Oh, never mind.'_

She halted in front of him and cast her gaze upward to rest upon the softly smiling face that seemed to watch her with benevolence. There was a window directly across from Mr Darcy's portrait, allowing Elizabeth the benefit of the bright moonlight to trace his features with her eyes. Had it been full daylight, she could not have seen him better. She sighed and relaxed; even as a painting, Mr Darcy's presence soothed her fears.

Recalling that there was a bench behind her, she determined to take a rest as she scrutinized the portrait. Unwilling to remove her stare from the glossy face of Mr Darcy, she walked backwards without breaking eye contact with the image upon the wall. Mr Darcy continued to smile back approvingly.

When her back met something solid and warm, Elizabeth screeched and whipped around, stumbling over the hem of her nightgown as she turned. A pair of strong, warm hands gripped her upper arms as she fell, terminating her descent to the carpet below.

"_Mr Darcy_!" she exclaimed as, indeed, the original stood before her, looking nearly as startled by her presence as she was by his. Had she somehow conjured him?

"E-Elizabeth!" he stuttered in response. Then, perhaps remembering that to address her so informally was improper, he cleared his throat and spoke again in more sedate tones, "Miss Bennet. What do you here in the middle of the night?"

"I might ask you the same, sir, though I suppose you have every right in your own house," Elizabeth replied. Her heart was beating fast again, though she was unsure whether it was due to fright or some other extreme emotion of the moment.

"I...could not sleep," Mr Darcy explained, "I sometimes wander the hallways until I am tired enough for repose."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh at the similarity of their habits. "I, myself, do something similar on occasion. You shall receive no judgment from me."

"Is that what you are doing now?"

Elizabeth shook her head and flicked her stare downward, focusing it upon his chest. He was more formally attired than herself, though not by much; his coat and cravat were both missing, leaving his shirt gaping open at the top, but he retained his waistcoat and trousers from earlier in the evening.

Taking stock of Mr Darcy's clothing reminded Elizabeth of her own dishabille and she looked down to find herself nearly exposed to his eyes as her nightgown slipped ever lower down her shoulders. At this point, it was only held up by the grip Mr Darcy had upon her upper arms. She flushed hotly and knew that he must see how far it extended down her body.

She lifted her regard back up to his visage, wary of the disgust she half expected to see in response to her disheveled state, but found that he was surveying her with something akin to wonder. Elizabeth coughed and his attention returned to her face. He was as red as she felt. "Apologies, Eliz – _ahem_, Miss Bennet," he said, releasing her at last and taking one long step backwards.

Elizabeth quickly grabbed at the falling material before her modesty was completely ruined and gathered the folds to her chest. Should anyone ever find out about this meeting, she would be completely ruined. Would Mr Darcy, a man she had already rejected, even attempt to recover her reputation through marriage? She hated the thought of making him obliged to her, even if what she really wanted was –

"Oh, Lord," Elizabeth whispered, primarily to herself, as she realized that all her pondering over Mr Darcy led to one excruciatingly simple, and yet so very complicated, conclusion: she was in love with him. She released one hand from its duty to cup over her mouth as the shock washed over her.

"Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy's voice sounded far away, muted by the pounding of her heart. It almost seemed as if it echoed off the walls of the corridor, drowning out all sound besides itself. "Elizabeth? Are you well?"

"I..."

She felt a soft touch upon her elbow and followed its lead, finding herself placed upon the bench she had been blindly searching for when she had bumped into Mr Darcy. Elizabeth sat down, guided by the man she loved. _Loved_.

"Elizabeth, please," Mr Darcy called to her. When she didn't respond, a touch to her chin turned her face toward him so that she might look upon his concerned expression. "Tell me what I can do. Shall I fetch you a glass of wine? Truly, you look very ill."

The laugh that burst from Elizabeth's lips was hoarse. "No, no I am very well indeed, sir. I have just realized..."

"Yes?"

"I have realized...," but she still couldn't say it. How could she when she had thrown his own words of adoration back in his face only four months ago? A tear trickled down Elizabeth's face and she looked down in shame.

Mr Darcy tipped her chin back up again, his eyes shining silver in the moonlight streaming in from the window. They were half-lidded and closing in...

When Elizabeth felt the brush of his lips upon her own, she gasped. He startled a little and pulled back, his gleaming eyes observing her for disapprobation, before leaning forward again and repeating the contact. This time he pressed gently and waited for her response. A whoosh of air released from her lungs through her nostrils as relief tingled in every nerve and she dropped her eyelids closed.

Mr Darcy pulled back just enough to release her mouth, but his forehead rested against hers and he nuzzled his nose against the crest of her cheek. She was sure he could feel how hot it burned. "Mr Darcy..."

"Call me Fitzwilliam," he requested in a rumbling whisper.

"_Fitzwilliam_," she acquiesced, tipping her head back to bring their lips once again into contact with one another. He responded by tilting his head to the side and deepening the kiss she had initiated, apparently encouraged by her boldness. She felt the tip of his tongue tickling the seam of her lips and she opened to accept it.

They remained tangled within this embrace for some amount of time, though Elizabeth could not determine exactly how many minutes had passed; she was far too absorbed in the feel, the scent, the essence of Mr Darcy – _Fitzwilliam_.

When they parted again, this time due to a mutual need to breathe freely, Fitzwilliam held her face between both of his hands and begged her, "Elizabeth, if your feelings are what they were this past April, tell me at once. Mine are unchanged. I beg you, most fervently, to be my wife."

Elizabeth chuckled and tickled her lips against his jaw, murmuring, "I cannot imagine myself doing this last April. My feelings...my feelings are so different. I have just realized, in fact, that I love you."

Fitzwilliam leaned back, spine straightening, as he gaped at her with unconcealed surprise. "You...you love me?"

"Yes," she breathed, releasing the neckline of her gown to touch his face with tender fingertips. It sagged a little lower, but she hardly minded. "Very much."

"_Elizabeth_."

Their lips found one another again and a further round of fervent kisses began. Fitzwilliam placed his hands upon the curves of her bare shoulders and pulled her against his chest, stroking over the contours of her upper back as he held her to him. Elizabeth raised her own arms to tangle her fingers into his curls, grasping them tightly as they were both pulled into the strong tide of passion.

_Creeeeeeeeeeeeak_.

The couple sprang apart at the sudden sound, Elizabeth's heart palpitating both from her activities with Mr Darcy and the terror at the thought of being caught in such a way. There would be no innocent explanation for two unmarried people, each improperly dressed, kissing each other in a darkened gallery by themselves. Though they had settled everything between them, it would absolutely not do to be caught in a compromising situation. Some ladies of Miss Bingley's ilk might consider such a thing to be an appropriate means to catch a husband, but it was, in fact, a shameful way to begin a life with your new partner, no matter how much affection existed between the parties involved.

"Did you hear that?" Fitzwilliam whispered, his breath rushing over the shell of her ear. She shivered a little, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

"Yes," she replied, equally quiet. "Do you see anyone about?"

They both rotated their heads around the space, searching silently for intruders. A short survey told them that they were, in fact, quite alone as they had thought originally. There was no place to hide in a long corridor filled with nothing but artwork on the walls and the occasional slender marble pedestal. The bench upon which the couple sat was the only piece of furniture within view.

A creeping suspicion tingled up Elizabeth's spine and she peeked over Fitzwilliam's shoulder toward the end of the passage. Sure enough, that same door which had lured her inside days ago stood open, a sliver of moonlight cutting through the thick shadows at the far reaches of the hall. She tapped her betrothed on the shoulder and indicated her discovery.

"Was that...open when you arrived?" she asked, though she rather figured she knew the answer.

"No." Of course not. "'Tis an unused bedchamber, one we only open when we have an overflow in the guest wing."

"I know," Elizabeth replied, burrowing closer to her new lover's chest as a chill shuddered through her body. "That is the same door that opened mysteriously during my tour..."

Fitzwilliam's head snapped toward her so quickly Elizabeth wouldn't have been surprised if he'd caused himself a crick. "Indeed?"

She nodded. "The very one."

Fitzwilliam disentangled himself from her arms and stood, eyes locked upon the innocent-looking door with the intense concentration that she had sometimes seen him utilize while watching her across a room of people, though the smile was absent. "Stay here," he ordered, walking briskly toward the light seeping into the hall from the mysterious chamber.

Elizabeth jumped to her feet without bothering to consider it first and caught up to him with a few speedy strides. He had longer steps than she, but it wasn't difficult to make up the difference with quickness. "Wait! I shall come with you."

"Elizabeth, stay here," he argued, stopping to turn and look directly at her. She couldn't see his expression as it was cast in darkness, but she could imagine his commanding "Master of Pemberley" look. "I shall see what it is."

"Firstly," she responded, poking him in the chest with an index finger, "what could possibly be a danger to me in your house? I don't suppose Pemberley is full of highwaymen."

"Of course not."

"Secondly," she opened her hand so that it rested over his heart, "I do not wish to be left alone in the dark. It is...disconcerting." '_Frightening_.'

"Very well," Fitzwilliam agreed, apparently realizing he was beaten, "but stay close to me." He held out his hand to Elizabeth and she took it before he set off in his intended direction once more.

Elizabeth's heart thudded in her chest as they approached the taunting door, which was far more intimidating at night than it had been in the glare of daytime. '_It is just a bedchamber_,' she reminded herself silently. '_There is no such thing as ghosts._'

Her beloved reached out his free arm and, with the flat of his palm, pushed the door open wider to peer inside the room. His head swiveled back and forth, carefully examining the contents of the chamber before he spoke, his voice a deep rumble. "I cannot see anyone inside. Shall you go in with me or remain out here?"

"Go with you," Elizabeth replied automatically, squeezing his hand. Fitzwilliam squeezed back and led her into the room.

It was exactly as she had remembered it, albeit draped in shadows. The black Japan cabinet stood regally against the wall, the deep purple bed hangings were dyed black as ink in the gloom and the window that had nearly taken her fingers was closed tightly against the night outside. All was in place.

"Come," Fitzwilliam said, tugging lightly as he stepped across the threshold. She followed, her free hand tangled in her nightgown to allow her bare feet freedom of movement across the hardwood floors. Her eyes darted to every item in the room, every corner that might conceal someone and every patch of blackness that seemed to assume shape. There was nothing to find.

"I think we are alone after all," she said, looking to Fitzwilliam.

He returned her gaze and replied, "I agree. There's nothing – "

SLAM!

Both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam jumped and spun around, searching for the source of this new disturbance to the night. Both pairs of their eyes landed upon their exit – it was closed.

Fitzwilliam released her and stalked to the door, grasping the knob in his right hand. He twisted and pulled, but it would not come free of its frame; they were barred from escape. "I cannot open it!" he said, though that much was obvious to his future bride. Elizabeth came forward to pull at the latch alongside him, but it was no use; they were absolutely trapped.

Eventually, they both gave up and stepped back, looking at each other. Elizabeth, at least, was quite spooked by recent events and she suspected that her groom felt much the same, even if he tried to hide it. "What shall we do?" she asked.

Fitzwilliam shrugged ineffectively. "I suppose we must spend the rest of the night here. We could try the bell pull, though I doubt any of the servants would hear it at this hour. It is past one o'clock in the morning."

"Well, at least we need not discuss whether you shall be forced to marry me," she quipped, though it sounded nervous even to her own ears.

Fitzwilliam stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. As he placed his hands upon her lower back, pulling her against him, he murmured into her hair, "No, but now your father's acceptance of my suit is secure. He could not deny me after something such as this."

She laughed at his attempt at a witticism and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I suppose not, though it would be best to blame the ghosts for our predicament. I suspect he will not be pleased with our narrative otherwise."

"I shall be sure to apprise him of the facts, madam."

o0o

SLAM!

"_For heaven's sake, George_," scolded his wife as she hovered above the carpet, her long flowing gown wafting about her as if caught in a soft breeze, "_you will scare them both to death! Be more gentle when you close doors._"

"_Me?_" scoffed George Darcy, silver and transparent in the bright moonlight. His voice echoed softly, as if from far away. "_Anne, I believe __**you**__ were the one who frightened our son's future bride so thoroughly that she fled her bedchamber in terror without a dressing gown or slippers. Imagine, showing yourself in the mirror like that..._"

Lady Anne affixed her husband with a haughty glare, as if he were a simpleton, before saying, "_How else was I supposed to effect the planned rendezvous? She needed to leave her room and so I chased her out._"

"_You could have given her a dream vision, like I did for Fitzwilliam_," George explained with exaggerated patience. "_He woke with a sudden urge to visit the gallery – voila._"

"_That only works if the living first fall asleep, and you know it!_" Lady Anne countered, her face suffused with a bright silver glow. Had she been alive, the change in her complexion would have been visible as a flush of anger. "_Elizabeth never fell asleep, ergo I could not give her a dream vision. Do pay attention, George._"

"_So much for 'til death do we part'..._" George grumbled.

His wife's head whipped in his direction, sending the tendrils of her loose snow white hair flailing about her. It moved as if submerged in water, caught in a tide that none but the undead could feel. "_What was that?_"

"_Nothing, dear._"

The squabbling spirits ignored the rattling and shaking of the closed door as their prisoners struggled to escape, caught in the heat of their bickering. Lady Anne persisted, "_I worked with the materials I was given. The mirror trick worked splendidly._"

"_Oh, yes, a perfect plan_," George scoffed. "_Though what we would have done had your little visit stopped Elizabeth's heart, I do not know. I suppose she could have continued here with us, watching Fitzwilliam slowly die of misery and grief. Then the Darcy line would have ended and we could all haunt Pemberley for eternity._"

"_Nonsense, she's a strong, healthy girl_," Lady Anne dismissed her husband's point with a regal wave of her hand. "_Were she not, she could never become the Mistress of Pemberley. Though I do think that silly Bible trick was a touch over the top. I thought she would expire on the spot when she read that verse._"

George laughed, his deep voice ebbing away into the darkness like rings on a pond. "_I disagree! I thought it was rather clever, myself._"

"_You __**would**__ think so_," replied Lady Anne. "Y_ou were always teasing poor Fitzwilliam so as a boy, pulling immature pranks. Between you and that awful Wickham boy, I am frankly amazed that he isn't some nervous little thing now. He was so sensitive._"

"_Exactly!_" cried George; a painting on the wall behind him rattled slightly as he slapped his hand upon it. "_He needed some toughening up. It worked, did it not?_"

Lady Anne shook her head and several wisps of her hair swirled around her as if floating upon the surface of reality. "_No, he simply learned to hide his feelings better. I am convinced that he would have received Elizabeth's acceptance the first time he asked for her hand had you not taught him to keep everything so bottled up inside. She did not even know he liked her!_"

"_Yes, well..._"

"_And I suppose –_ "

"_Enough, Anne, enough!_" George interrupted whatever chastisement was coming next with a huff. "_You have adequately made your point. What matters now is that they are engaged. We have succeeded._"

Lady Anne raised her eyebrow at her husband. "_And you locked them in that room together for what purpose? He got his acceptance – they shall be married. I thought we had agreed that a compromise was a last resort should one or both of them prove too stubborn or reticent to make their feelings known._"

George shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "_Consider it a wedding present to Fitzwilliam._"

"_Oh, George..._"

"_Come now, my dear_," George rumbled, levitating closer to his long-dead bride. He raised her pale hand to his transparent lips and brushed a kiss upon the back of it. She flushed silver at the contact. "_You recall what it was like to be young and in love. Our son deserves this time with his betrothed before he is required to share the news with all and sundry and revert back to being proper. Besides_," he added with a wink, "_the sooner they get started, the sooner we can see grandchildren scampering about the place. What think you of that?_"

Lady Anne rolled her eyes, but a smile was spreading across her ethereal face. "_I suppose when you put it like that..._"

"_If we are very lucky, the little ones shall even come visit us up here, like Georgiana used to. Before she got too old to believe in such things_," George pointed out. In life, he had been concerned about his youngest child when she had claimed to pay visits to her Mama in the gallery, but he had understood better when he had been at the threshold of death himself. Somehow, the veil is thinner for the very young and those on the precipice between this life and the next.

Lady Anne sighed and rested her head upon her husband's shoulder. The pair looked as if they were crafted out of moonlight. "_That would be very lovely, indeed._"

George kissed Lady Anne upon her temple, whispering, "_That's the spirit._"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, that's all folks! Epilogue to follow soon and a BONUS CHAPTER on Halloween. Just cuz I love you all.

Proceed to the next chapter if you want to read the MA 18+ version of this ending.

**Next Update: **October 7, 2019 (Epilogue)  
**Expected Completion Date: **October 31, 2019 (Bonus Chapter! Happy Halloween)

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	4. Chapter Three (MA Explicit)

**Title:** A Haunting at Pemberley  
**Rating: **MA (NC-17) – for spooky good fun and a scene with explicit content. This chapter only.  
**Disclaimer:** Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved._  
_**Setting:** Regency

**Summary:** Trapped at Pemberley during a storm, a nervous Elizabeth can't help but wonder – are the stories true? Is the great house haunted? When she races out into the hallway in a fright, she bumps into Mr Darcy...

Who ya gonna call?

There are three – count 'em, _three_ – versions of this chapter. The first is clean, **this one is MA 18+** and the final an alternate "Squeaky Clean" ending which features no premarital sex at all. Consider this a "pick your own adventure," I guess.

_**!WARNING!**_ This version of Chapter Three is exactly the same as the "Clean" edition, but with the addition of one scene that is intended for adults only. Content is explicit. You are missing no information integral to the plot if you read the "clean" version only. Also, if premarital sex between consenting/engaged adults is not your thing at all, you may proceed to a THIRD version of this chapter that was written in deference to the rules regarding that very issue for the DarcyandLizzy Forum. Consider it an alternate ending, though much of it will still be familiar.

* * *

_Chapter Three (Mature Content 18+)_

Miss Darcy, as had been apparent at first glance, was rather taller and a touch more broad than Elizabeth herself and so the lovely evening gown so graciously loaned to her dragged the floor as she walked. She attempted to alleviate this condition by gathering fistfuls of extra fabric and lifting it upwards, thus freeing her feet to walk unencumbered, but there was still a slight train of white that followed Elizabeth everywhere. She hoped that she would not ruin the dress before she could remove it again.

Elizabeth paused to check her appearance in the mirror above her dressing table before she descended to dinner. She appeared pale and fretful, but her hair had been neatly coiffed by Miss Darcy's lady's maid – another generous loan – and she was swathed in richer fabrics than she was generally accustomed to. The dress was a simplistic sheathe of pure white, perfect for a protected maiden such as the genteel and delicate Miss Georgiana Darcy, yet not quite right for Elizabeth herself. Perhaps it was because she was several years older than the girl who owned the garment in question, or it might be the greater knowledge of herself and the world she had gained over the past year in her interactions with Mr Darcy.

"Or," she admitted to her reflection with a laugh, tugging at the snug bodice to rearrange her...self, "maybe it's just too tight!"

Thoughts of Mr Darcy, who at last report was still missing out in the swirling tempest that had descended upon Pemberley, dropped the smile from her face in an instant. She hoped that he was well...

_Creeeeeeeeeak_.

Elizabeth looked to the door that would open out into the hallway, her increasingly wary mind checking to be sure that it was as closed as the maid had left it before returning to Miss Darcy. The portal remained sealed and she released a tense breath.

Spooked a little by the noise and her own thoughts, Elizabeth decided that it was time to go down to dinner, ready or not. Even Miss Bingley would be welcome company when compared to the specters that supposedly haunted these hallowed halls.

"Then again, perhaps not," she muttered to herself as she turned the knob and released herself into the corridor.

Outside her assigned chamber, all was as quiet as it should be. There was no one about, the other guests having noisily passed by her door already as she finished stuffing her bosom into her dress; even the servants had apparently found work elsewhere. The only sound apparent to her ears was the soft pitter-patter of her own slippers upon the carpet.

Pit-pat-sqsh, pit-pat-sqush, pit-pat-sqush.

Elizabeth halted in the middle of the corridor, arrested there by the sound of approaching footsteps. There was something a little strange about them; they sounded a little...wet, like whenever she tracked muddy boots through the kitchen at Longbourn.

Her imagination seized upon the image of a ghastly pale figure, dripping wet and stalking the hallways as if she still lived. A chill suddenly accosted her, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.

Elizabeth shook the notion away and scurried forward, intent on making the stairs quickly and returning to the comfort of people down below. The hem of her borrowed gown hissed against the weave of the carpet as it skimmed over the floor at an accelerated pace. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, refusing to even so much as glance at a door or window as she passed them. If she could but –

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, colliding into something solid with a wet smack and bouncing backwards. She tumbled and fell onto her backside, her pale skirts flaring around her as she descended to the floor and resettling around her in haphazard fashion.

"Miss Bennet! Forgive me, I was not attending to where I was going. Are you injured?"

Elizabeth raised her eyes to behold Mr Darcy, once more soaked to the skin by misadventure, hovering over her like a sopping wet statue come to life. He looked most startled to see her crumpled upon the floor at his feet.

"I am quite well, sir, but I thank you for your concern," she replied, feeling her face warm in a blush. She placed a hand upon her heaving bosom, directly over her rapidly beating heart, and encouraged herself to calm silently.

Mr Darcy still loomed before her and she could not help a covert peek at him from beneath the veil of her lashes. He really was quite handsome in every situation, she could not deny it. With his nearly black hair mussed by wind and rain, his clothing hugged as closely to his person as absolutely possible and his towering height, he looked like a dark Gothic hero torn from the pages of a novel.

His eyes, too, appeared to be lost in study, though his subject was her; she could practically feel the cool gray gaze whispering over her skin, even on the parts of her that were covered by clothing, as he scanned her from top to toe. When they reached her feet, they rested there and she followed his gaze.

"Oh!" she cried out, mortified, as she rushed to cover her ankles with the drape of her skirts. He hadn't seen an excessive amount, only about halfway up her calf, but it was still more than any other man had ever seen of her person and it was hardly ladylike to allow anyone besides her husband the privilege.

"I-I beg your pardon," Mr Darcy apologized, darting his eyes away from her exposure as she corrected her clothing.

"No, I should apologize, sir," she disputed, feeling distinctly warm in his presence. "I should have been more aware of where I was going and – "

She stopped as she felt him kneel down next to her and place a tentative hand on her shoulder; he was careful to only touch that which was covered by silk. "I should have not allowed you to fall. Had I behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner – " He stopped himself there and they both looked away as the pain of old memories rose to the surface of their minds.

Elizabeth broke the awkward silence that had sprung up between them a long moment later with a hesitating laugh. "Mr Darcy, I believe we shall miss dinner if we sit here arguing over who is most at fault in this situation. I think it more expedient to simply agree to share the blame. Yes?"

Their gazes made contact again and he smiled. "If I must."

"I insist!" she replied, a more genuine chuckle escaping her this time. "Now, if you would be so kind as to assist me to my feet, I may go downstairs and deliver the good news of your safe return to the house. Why, pray tell, were you out for so long in this dreadful weather?"

Mr Darcy stood and extended both of his hands for her to take. She did so and he hefted Elizabeth to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. "I was not out in this for so very long, actually. I helped young Gordon to the stables where he could be tended to and then attempted to wait out the downpour. When it seemed I would either have to brave the elements again or sleep in a pile of hay, I made a run for it."

Elizabeth, a little flustered to be so close to him after he'd pulled her into a standing position, took a step back and clasped her hands at her waist. She struggled to minimize the discomfort in her voice as she said, "Well, you look as if you have been swimming in the lake again! We really must stop meeting like this, sir."

"I suppose you are correct, Miss Bennet," he agreed, swiping his fingers through his dripping curls. When he dropped his arm back to his side, his hair remained slicked back away from his face, making his cheekbones more prominent than ever before. His eyes were strikingly pale in contrast. "I would escort you downstairs, but I fear I am hardly presentable."

"I forgive you, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth teased, dropping her gaze as she felt suddenly bashful. "I shall make your excuses when I arrive down there myself."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet."

o0o

"Well, I say that we should not hold dinner for _her_ sake," Miss Bingley's voice floated out of the open drawing room door into the corridor as Elizabeth approached it, careful not to tread on the length of skirt which exceeded her height. Now that Mr Darcy was returned safely to the house, her amusement at the lady's expense had returned and she bit her lip against the assault of laughter bubbling up within her chest. The presumptuous woman spoke as if she were already mistress of the house! "Guests should be courteous enough to their hosts to arrive downstairs _on time_ for a meal. Perhaps her countrified manners are too lax for the fashionable world."

"_You_ have only been downstairs for the past five minutes, Caroline," Mr Bingley's voice rose in Elizabeth's defense. How very like him. "I think we can grant Miss Elizabeth a few more minutes leeway. Moreover, it is not even half past six yet."

Miss Bingley did not respond to this, but Elizabeth could imagine the haughty expression on her face as if it were before her. The lady's nose would be tipped upwards into the air, of course, and her eyelids would be half-lidded in a show of affected boredom as she gazed off into the middle distance. And her mouth, those thin, pale lips, would be pressed together into a firm line. Overall, she would give the impression of a finicky cat refusing to acknowledge a dead mouse.

Elizabeth entered the room in a swish of silk and was greeted by most with warm cordiality. Miss Bingley and the Hursts were the only exceptions; the Superior Sisters had both adopted identical airs of long suffering impatience over her supposed tardiness and Mr Hurst showed no interest at all. If she were not mistaken, he appeared to be dozing in his chair.

"Lizzy! There you are," called Aunt Gardiner, patting the seat on the sofa next to hers. "I had wondered if you had gotten lost."

"Not at all, Aunt," Elizabeth replied, accepting her invitation to sit. "I happened to encounter Mr Darcy in the hallway upstairs as he was returning to his chambers. He bid me to inform you all that he is very well, although very _wet_, and that he would be down directly after changing his clothing."

Mr Gardiner's shoulders shook with unexpressed laughter. "Been swimming with the spirits again, eh?"

"Hardly, Uncle," Elizabeth replied, her own irrepressible smile appearing on her lips, "but I admit that he looks as if he might have. He claims to have taken temporary shelter in the stables, though he made the debatable decision to make a run for the house when he realized that the rain was not about to let up tonight."

"'Swimming with the spirits again'?" Miss Darcy, surprisingly, spoke up. When the eyes of the room turned upon her, she blushed and looked down at her hands, which were fiddling with one another in her lap.

"Did he not tell you?" Elizabeth asked, vastly amused.

Miss Darcy shook her head. "Tell me what?"

"Why, the other day when we were touring Pemberley..."

Miss Darcy and most of the other guests seemed to enjoy Elizabeth's retelling of her inauspicious reunion with her host, told with great animation and humor. Mr Bingley openly guffawed at his friend's expense as Mr Gardiner added little asides to her tale, amusing details Elizabeth either forgot or glossed over, and added greatly to its hilarity. His wife shook her head and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, but there was a thin smile upon her features that belied her exasperation. Mrs Annesley hid a grin behind her fan and Georgiana, likely used to considering her brother as a paragon of all that was proud and serious, kept both hands cupped over her mouth as if she could physically contain her laughter. Even Mr Hurst woke from his stupor to comment, "I say, do you suppose he was attempting to catch his next meal with his bare hands?" which earned him some general laughter.

"Certainly not."

All eyes turned to the open doorway to find Mr Darcy standing within it, framed by its contours. His expression was rather grim.

Elizabeth bit her lip, having only considered for the first time that Mr Darcy, so unused to being teased, might not appreciate having their shared embarrassing experience canvassed amongst the company. Was he angry?

She glanced around the room and saw matching looks of trepidation on Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley, chagrined smiles on the gentlemen present, another shake of the head from her aunt and on the Superior Sisters, both of whom had been vociferously offended on Mr Darcy's behalf, a shared look and matching smirks. They all turned their attention to Mr Darcy and awaited the set down that was surely coming.

"I was trying to catch it with my teeth."

The drawing room was silent for a long moment as Mr Darcy's jest was absorbed by all present. Then, almost as one, the company began to laugh. Even Mrs Hurst joined in initially, until censored by a sharp glare from her sister.

Elizabeth turned her eyes to Mr Darcy and clamped her lips together, though she knew that her mirth was bubbling up out of her eyes. Upon his own face, a smile was sprouting as he returned her gaze. She felt a bashful flush rise in her cheeks as they continued to look at one another for some extended seconds.

"A_hem_," a stiff voice interrupted, "dinner is served." The butler stood just behind Mr Darcy, bowed at the waist as he made his announcement.

"Speaking of," murmured Mr Darcy loud enough for the company to hear, earning a few more chuckles. "Shall we?"

All the occupants of the room rose, each of the gentlemen offering his escort to at least one lady, and they proceeded out into the corridor toward the dining room. Miss Bingley hovered by the doorway, clearly waiting for Mr Darcy's arm, and watching as he instead approached Elizabeth.

"Miss Bennet, may I have the honor of escorting you in to dinner?" Mr Darcy requested with a bow.

Elizabeth gathered a portion of her long skirts in one fist and placed her other hand upon his proffered arm. "I would be delighted, sir."

Hearing a snort from across the room, Elizabeth peeked over Mr Darcy's shoulder to see Miss Bingley's turned back as she left the room with her nose in the air. Apparently, she would have Mr Darcy's undivided attention or nothing at all.

"I suppose at dinner you will be telling all and sundry about my dishabille above stairs next?" Mr Darcy asked, bringing Elizabeth's focus back to where it belonged. He was still smiling, so she accepted his query as sporting.

"Not at all, sir," she denied, feeling quite impish, indeed. "I was going to ask you for some advice on fishing."

o0o

"So, Mr Darcy, what have you to say about these stories we have been hearing since we arrived in Lambton? Are the hallowed halls of Pemberley truly haunted?" Mr Gardiner asked as he carved his delectably tender slice of beef into bite sized pieces. He placed one into his mouth and sighed in appreciation for the flavor.

Mr Darcy raised his head away from Elizabeth on his left, with whom he had been indulging in quiet conversation on various subjects, and fixed her uncle with a quizzical expression. "I beg your pardon?"

"We have heard from two separate sources," Mr Gardiner, seated on his other side, continued, flicking a glance to a clearly embarrassed Miss Darcy, "about how this great house is supposedly afflicted with various spirits. What say you, sir?"

Elizabeth wished to melt into the floor. Had her silly mother been present, she could not have asked a more mortifying question. Likely excessively vulgar, but not more mortifying. She resisted the urge to bury her face between her hands and instead focused on the delicious food she no longer wished to eat.

"I have heard several such stories, but they are all rubbish," Mr Darcy replied succinctly. "I have resided here my entire life, save for those years I was away at school or university, and have never seen anything that I would consider supernatural. The villagers tend to be superstitious."

After swallowing his bite, Mr Gardiner countered, "Then how do you explain what happened to our Lizzy the other day just before we fished you from the lake, eh?"

Elizabeth could feel Mr Darcy's scrutiny burning into her scalp, but she refused to look at him, even when he asked, "Happened? What happened to Eli – Miss Bennet?"

"It was nothing," she tried to deny, raising her head to affix him with a smile she hoped was charming. "This sauce is divine, Mr Darcy. Might I take the recipe home to Cook at Longbourn? I know my father would enjoy it."

"Why, she was chased around the house by ghosts, sir!" Mr Gardiner continued as if she had not spoken at all. His tone was infused with jolly amusement.

"'Ghosts,' Miss Eliza?" Miss Bingley broke in from midway down the table where she had been sitting in sullen silence so far. Now her face was split with a smirk at Elizabeth's expense. "Perhaps you should try speaking to a physician rather than the dead."

"I never claimed to see a ghost, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth reminded her with a touch of asperity. The lady raised her eyebrow slightly, increasing the overall smugness of her expression.

"But something did happen during your tour of Pemberley, Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy interrupted, returning the attention of all to his end of the table.

Elizabeth averted her eyes to her plate and speared a potato with her fork. "Not at all, sir. My uncle exaggerates."

"Come now, Lizzy," Mr Gardiner persisted, "it is hardly something to be so missish about! You remember that she was alone when she stumbled across you in the lake, yes?" he said this to Mr Darcy, who nodded, a small frown upon his lips and brow. "Well, she had become separated from us after our visit to your excellent gallery. While there, apparently, a door opened of its own accord and a window within the same room slammed itself shut and then would not open again. All likely caused by some mischievous wind." Well, at least he had left out the part about the Bible in the master's study.

"I see," said Mr Darcy, turning back to Elizabeth. "I apologize, Miss Bennet, if such events gave you a fright. I shall see to the maintenance of my doors and windows immediately."

"It was nothing," Elizabeth repeated with some vehemence, drawing a scowl upon her face and directing it at Mr Gardiner. "Truly, as my uncle has said, it was likely nothing more than the wind. I am sure there is nothing amiss in your lovely house, Mr Darcy."

"Of course not! Pemberley is perfection itself," interjected Miss Bingley and the subject turned to flattering her host and all his possessions. She was largely ignored by the party; even Mrs Hurst, her staunchest supporter, only listened to her monologue with one ear.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy resumed their conversation from earlier, but her embarrassment over the silly matter of her misadventure put rather a damper on her enthusiasm. She wished she could simply laugh off her humiliation as he had, but she felt so conscious in his presence since reuniting with him that it was difficult for her to do so.

Then again, she supposed that it was silly of her to hold onto her mortification when he hadn't and vowed to make more of an effort to overcome it. With that in mind, she took a breath and joked, "Pemberley may not be haunted, but I assure you that Longbourn_ is_. Sir, while you were in Hertfordshire did any of the locals happen to tell you the tale of the ghostly goat?"

Mr Darcy's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter and his enigmatic smile grew until it was a grin. "I cannot say I have had that pleasure."

"Well, it all began when my great-great-Granny Bennet put out her wash one fine day..."

o0o

Elizabeth lay in bed that night listening to the thunder grumble above her like a grumpy old man. The storm had largely worn itself out, but there were still occasional flashes of weak lightning or smatterings of rain against the windowpane. It was only minutes til midnight and still Elizabeth could not sleep.

Perhaps it was all this talk of ghosts, or even her own ridiculous experience from the other day, but she was suspicious of every noise, whether it be a footstep in the corridor or a gust of wind brushing against the house. She was spooked, though loathe to admit it.

With a sigh, Elizabeth kicked her covers off and raised herself into a sitting position. She readjusted the shoulder of her nightgown again – the troublesome thing kept slipping down her arm – and huffed at her own foolishness. How could she have gotten herself so caught up in ghost stories? Spirits _did not exist_ and, even if they did, she certainly had never seen one, strange coincidences aside. If only she could take a walk to clear her head...

"Well, why not?" she said to the darkness. She could always pace the halls a little bit, so long as she was careful not to wander too far. Walking was the only thing that ever truly helped her calm her distress and, though it was always most effective out of doors surrounded by nature, she had been known to circle the house at home when that was not an option. Pemberley would be even more suited to the task since it was so much larger; she would surely disturb no one, even if it were the middle of the night.

Then again, perhaps it was not the best idea to go wandering around an unfamiliar estate in the middle of the night with no guide. She could get lost and never make it back to her room, which would be a rather unseemly end to her visit when she was discovered wandering the halls alone in the morning wearing her nightclothes. Perhaps she should simply pace around her chambers?

Still undecided, yet eager to move regardless, Elizabeth lowered her feet to the floor and stood. She picked up the long train of her nightgown – another overly large loan from Miss Darcy – and padded over to the vanity where she had left her candle. With a strike of flint, a flame was sparked and the room was awash in a warm glow.

She picked up her refreshed light source and rose from her bent position, catching a glimpse of her own reflection as she straightened. Sheathed in fine white cotton, her face half-shaded in the glow of the candle, she nearly looked as if _she_ were haunting the place.

A flicker of movement caught her attention and Elizabeth's vision latched onto the source in the mirror. Her heart seized – she wasn't alone.

Over her shoulder, Elizabeth could see a tall figure draped in white looming in the background against the far wall. It was a lady, if Elizabeth had to guess, and her long, silvery hair fell down to her waist, framing a deathly pale face. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating her bedchamber in stark white light, and she disappeared for an instant, only to reappear when the room returned to shadow.

Elizabeth gasped and whirled around, her shaking hand losing its grip upon the candelabra. Her torch fell to the floor and extinguished itself just as her eyes locked upon the spot where she was expecting to find the mysterious lady; the entire chamber was pitched into darkness.

The only things Elizabeth could hear were the hard pitter-pattering of her own heart, the harsh rasp of her quickened breath and the low vibration from the sky above. If there was another person in the room with her, they were completely silent and did not make their presence known to her.

"H-Hello?" she called out. There was no answer.

Another flash of lightning brightened the room for a split second, confirming that she was alone. A sharp chill was her only companion. Had she imagined it? Her mind, so saturated by ghost stories of late, might have conjured a specter from her mind.

That surely was it, but she was far too frightened to remain another moment. Without even donning her robe or slippers, Elizabeth picked up the hem of her nightgown and raced to the door, flinging it open and practically throwing herself out into the hallway. She stumbled a little at the threshold, but did not stop.

o0o

Some time later, Elizabeth finally halted her mad dash from her room to rest against a convenient wall, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath. She closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow its rapid beating before it burst from her ribs. Slowly, and with much concentration, Elizabeth calmed.

Clutching at the neckline of her gown, which was sliding ever lower and would soon slip from her form entirely were she not careful to hold it up, Elizabeth raised her lids to look about her and determine where her flight had taken her. She was in a corridor that looked somewhat familiar, though she wasn't positive that it truly was or if all the internal pathways at Pemberley simply bore resemblance to one another. She wasn't in the guest wing any longer, that much was for certain, and she did not remember taking any stairs to the lower floor, but that only narrowed down her position slightly. She was somewhat concerned about becoming lost, but she was still a touch too frightened by the workings of her imagination – for that was the only explanation for what she thought she had seen in the mirror – to return to her assigned chambers. Thus, Elizabeth decided to proceed with her exploration for the moment and then retrace her steps once she had gathered the courage to go back to bed.

It was rather dark in the hall, but there was a line of windows to one side that let in some light. She walked over to the nearest one and peered out, confirming that the clouds above were clearing and that the full moon was peeking out to cast a silver glow upon the landscape. The magnificent orb glittered upon the surface of the lake, reminding Elizabeth of the young bride who had supposedly drowned there. Had that been the specter in the mirror...?

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously to dispel the ridiculous thought, reminding herself harshly, "It was not _real_, Lizzy. You were imagining things." Still, the concept would not leave her and she crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the chill that gripped her.

She began drifting down the hallway again, the hem of her nightgown whispering across the carpet as she strolled, awash in the glow of cool moonlight. Her dark curls, loosened from their braid, draped across her shoulders like a shawl and fell past her waist. The dark mass of her hair fanned out behind her in the breeze created by her motion. "I must look very much like a spirit myself," she mused, weakly smiling at the idea.

Elizabeth felt a touch better at this amusing thought and cast her gaze about her surroundings, searching for any hints as to her location. There was a large landscape upon the wall facing the windows depicting rolling golden fields at harvest time, dotted with servants hacking away at them with scythes. A little further down, between the landscape and another painting of fruit, was a marble bust that sported Mr Darcy's nose. She was in the gallery!

The moon was of great assistance to her perusal of the artwork scattered along the walls as she searched for one portrait in particular. Elizabeth knew that it was about midway down the line, placed in prominence so that all visitors would be sure to see it during their tour, and she felt that she must be close...

There! Up ahead was the grand portrait of the current Master of Pemberley. Elizabeth gripped her skirts within both hands and lifted them out of the way of her feet as she scampered more quickly toward the image of her Mr Darcy.

Well, perhaps not _her_ Mr Darcy, but the one she knew personally. Not personally, but –

'_Oh, never mind.'_

She halted in front of him and cast her gaze upward to rest upon the softly smiling face that seemed to watch her with benevolence. There was a window directly across from Mr Darcy's portrait, allowing Elizabeth the benefit of the bright moonlight to trace his features with her eyes. Had it been full daylight, she could not have seen him better. She sighed and relaxed; even as a painting, Mr Darcy's presence soothed her fears.

Recalling that there was a bench behind her, she determined to take a rest as she scrutinized the portrait. Unwilling to remove her stare from the glossy face of Mr Darcy, she walked backwards without breaking eye contact with the image upon the wall. Mr Darcy continued to smile back approvingly.

When her back met something solid and warm, Elizabeth screeched and whipped around, stumbling over the hem of her nightgown as she turned. A pair of strong, warm hands gripped her upper arms as she fell, terminating her descent to the carpet below.

"_Mr Darcy_!" she exclaimed as, indeed, the original stood before her, looking nearly as startled by her presence as she was by his. Had she somehow conjured him?

"E-Elizabeth!" he stuttered in response. Then, perhaps remembering that to address her so informally was improper, he cleared his throat and spoke again in more sedate tones, "Miss Bennet. What do you here in the middle of the night?"

"I might ask you the same, sir, though I suppose you have every right in your own house," Elizabeth replied. Her heart was beating fast again, though she was unsure whether it was due to fright or some other extreme emotion of the moment.

"I...could not sleep," Mr Darcy explained, "I sometimes wander the hallways until I am tired enough for repose."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh at the similarity of their habits. "I, myself, do something similar on occasion. You shall receive no judgment from me."

"Is that what you are doing now?"

Elizabeth shook her head and flicked her stare downward, focusing it upon his chest. He was more formally attired than herself, though not by much; his coat and cravat were both missing, leaving his shirt gaping open at the top, but he retained his waistcoat and trousers from earlier in the evening.

Taking stock of Mr Darcy's clothing reminded Elizabeth of her own dishabille and she looked down to find herself nearly exposed to his eyes as her nightgown slipped ever lower down her shoulders. At this point, it was only held up by the grip Mr Darcy had upon her upper arms. She flushed hotly and knew that he must see how far it extended down her body.

She lifted her regard back up to his visage, wary of the disgust she half expected to see in response to her disheveled state, but found that he was surveying her with something akin to wonder. Elizabeth coughed and his attention returned to her face. He was as red as she felt. "Apologies, Eliz – _ahem_, Miss Bennet," he said, releasing her at last and taking one long step backwards.

Elizabeth quickly grabbed at the falling material before her modesty was completely ruined and gathered the folds to her chest. Should anyone ever find out about this meeting, she would be completely ruined. Would Mr Darcy, a man she had already rejected, even attempt to recover her reputation through marriage? She hated the thought of making him obliged to her, even if what she really wanted was –

"Oh, Lord," Elizabeth whispered, primarily to herself, as she realized that all her pondering over Mr Darcy led to one excruciatingly simple, and yet so very complicated, conclusion: she was in love with him. She released one hand from its duty to cup over her mouth as the shock washed over her.

"Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy's voice sounded far away, muted by the pounding of her heart. It almost seemed as if it echoed off the walls of the corridor, drowning out all sound besides itself. "Elizabeth? Are you well?"

"I..."

She felt a soft touch upon her elbow and followed its lead, finding herself placed upon the bench she had been blindly searching for when she had bumped into Mr Darcy. Elizabeth sat down, guided by the man she loved. _Loved_.

"Elizabeth, please," Mr Darcy called to her. When she didn't respond, a touch to her chin turned her face toward him so that she might look upon his concerned expression. "Tell me what I can do. Shall I fetch you a glass of wine? Truly, you look very ill."

The laugh that burst from Elizabeth's lips was hoarse. "No, no I am very well indeed, sir. I have just realized..."

"Yes?"

"I have realized...," but she still couldn't say it. How could she when she had thrown his own words of adoration back in his face only four months ago? A tear trickled down Elizabeth's face and she looked down in shame.

Mr Darcy tipped her chin back up again, his eyes shining silver in the moonlight streaming in from the window. They were half-lidded and closing in...

When Elizabeth felt the brush of his lips upon her own, she gasped. He startled a little and pulled back, his gleaming eyes observing her for disapprobation, before leaning forward again and repeating the contact. This time he pressed gently and waited for her response. A whoosh of air released from her lungs through her nostrils as relief tingled in every nerve and she dropped her eyelids closed.

Mr Darcy pulled back just enough to release her mouth, but his forehead rested against hers and he nuzzled his nose against the crest of her cheek. She was sure he could feel how hot it burned. "Mr Darcy..."

"Call me Fitzwilliam," he requested in a rumbling whisper.

"_Fitzwilliam_," she acquiesced, tipping her head back to bring their lips once again into contact with one another. He responded by tilting his head to the side and deepening the kiss she had initiated, apparently encouraged by her boldness. She felt the tip of his tongue tickling the seam of her lips and she opened to accept it.

They remained tangled within this embrace for some amount of time, though Elizabeth could not determine exactly how many minutes had passed; she was far too absorbed in the feel, the scent, the essence of Mr Darcy – _Fitzwilliam_.

When they parted again, this time due to a mutual need to breathe freely, Fitzwilliam held her face between both of his hands and begged her, "Elizabeth, if your feelings are what they were this past April, tell me at once. Mine are unchanged. I beg you, most fervently, to be my wife."

Elizabeth chuckled and tickled her lips against his jaw, murmuring, "I cannot imagine myself doing this last April. My feelings...my feelings are so different. I have just realized, in fact, that I love you."

Fitzwilliam leaned back, spine straightening, as he gaped at her with unconcealed surprise. "You...you love me?"

"Yes," she breathed, releasing the neckline of her gown to touch his face with tender fingertips. It sagged a little lower, but she hardly minded. "Very much."

"_Elizabeth_."

Their lips found one another again and a further round of fervent kisses began. Fitzwilliam placed his hands upon the curves of her bare shoulders and pulled her against his chest, stroking over the contours of her upper back as he held her to him. Elizabeth raised her own arms to tangle her fingers into his curls, grasping them tightly as they were both pulled into the strong tide of passion.

_Creeeeeeeeeeeeak_.

The couple sprang apart at the sudden sound, Elizabeth's heart palpitating both from her activities with Mr Darcy and the terror at the thought of being caught in such a way. There would be no innocent explanation for two unmarried people, each improperly dressed, kissing each other in a darkened gallery by themselves. Though they had settled everything between them, it would absolutely not do to be caught in a compromising situation. Some ladies of Miss Bingley's ilk might consider such a thing to be an appropriate means to catch a husband, but it was, in fact, a shameful way to begin a life with your new partner, no matter how much affection existed between the parties involved.

"Did you hear that?" Fitzwilliam whispered, his breath rushing over the shell of her ear. She shivered a little, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

"Yes," she replied, equally quiet. "Do you see anyone about?"

They both rotated their heads around the space, searching silently for intruders. A short survey told them that they were, in fact, quite alone as they had thought originally. There was no place to hide in a long corridor filled with nothing but artwork on the walls and the occasional slender marble pedestal. The bench upon which the couple sat was the only piece of furniture within view.

A creeping suspicion tingled up Elizabeth's spine and she peeked over Fitzwilliam's shoulder toward the end of the passage. Sure enough, that same door which had lured her inside days ago stood open, a sliver of moonlight cutting through the thick shadows at the far reaches of the hall. She tapped her betrothed on the shoulder and indicated her discovery.

"Was that...open when you arrived?" she asked, though she rather figured she knew the answer.

"No." Of course not. "'Tis an unused bedchamber, one we only open when we have an overflow in the guest wing."

"I know," Elizabeth replied, burrowing closer to her new lover's chest as a chill shuddered through her body. "That is the same door that opened mysteriously during my tour..."

Fitzwilliam's head snapped toward her so quickly Elizabeth wouldn't have been surprised if he'd caused himself a crick. "Indeed?"

She nodded. "The very one."

Fitzwilliam disentangled himself from her arms and stood, eyes locked upon the innocent-looking door with the intense concentration that she had sometimes seen him utilize while watching her across a room of people, though the smile was absent. "Stay here," he ordered, walking briskly toward the light seeping into the hall from the mysterious chamber.

Elizabeth jumped to her feet without bothering to consider it first and caught up to him with a few speedy strides. He had longer steps than she, but it wasn't difficult to make up the difference with quickness. "Wait! I shall come with you."

"Elizabeth, stay here," he argued, stopping to turn and look directly at her. She couldn't see his expression as it was cast in darkness, but she could imagine his commanding "Master of Pemberley" look. "I shall see what it is."

"Firstly," she responded, poking him in the chest with an index finger, "what could possibly be a danger to me in your house? I don't suppose Pemberley is full of highwaymen."

"Of course not."

"Secondly," she opened her hand so that it rested over his heart, "I do not wish to be left alone in the dark. It is...disconcerting." '_Frightening_.'

"Very well," Fitzwilliam agreed, apparently realizing he was beaten, "but stay close to me." He held out his hand to Elizabeth and she took it before he set off in his intended direction once more.

Elizabeth's heart thudded in her chest as they approached the taunting door, which was far more intimidating at night than it had been in the glare of daytime. '_It is just a bedchamber_,' she reminded herself silently. '_There is no such thing as ghosts._'

Her beloved reached out his free arm and, with the flat of his palm, pushed the door open wider to peer inside the room. His head swiveled back and forth, carefully examining the contents of the chamber before he spoke, his voice a deep rumble. "I cannot see anyone inside. Shall you go in with me or remain out here?"

"Go with you," Elizabeth replied automatically, squeezing his hand. Fitzwilliam squeezed back and led her into the room.

It was exactly as she had remembered it, albeit draped in shadows. The black Japan cabinet stood regally against the wall, the deep purple bed hangings were dyed black as ink in the gloom and the window that had nearly taken her fingers was closed tightly against the night outside. All was in place.

"Come," Fitzwilliam said, tugging lightly as he stepped across the threshold. She followed, her free hand tangled in her nightgown to allow her bare feet freedom of movement across the hardwood floors. Her eyes darted to every item in the room, every corner that might conceal someone and every patch of blackness that seemed to assume shape. There was nothing to find.

"I think we are alone after all," she said, looking to Fitzwilliam.

He returned her gaze and replied, "I agree. There's nothing – "

SLAM!

Both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam jumped and spun around, searching for the source of this new disturbance to the night. Both pairs of their eyes landed upon their exit – it was closed.

Fitzwilliam released her and stalked to the door, grasping the knob in his right hand. He twisted and pulled, but it would not come free of its frame; they were barred from escape. "I cannot open it!" he said, though that much was obvious to his future bride. Elizabeth came forward to pull at the latch alongside him, but it was no use; they were absolutely trapped.

Eventually, they both gave up and stepped back, looking at each other. Elizabeth, at least, was quite spooked by recent events and she suspected that her groom felt much the same, even if he tried to hide it. "What shall we do?" she asked.

Fitzwilliam shrugged ineffectively. "I suppose we must spend the rest of the night here. We could try the bell pull, though I doubt any of the servants would hear it at this hour. It is past one o'clock in the morning."

"Well, at least we need not discuss whether you shall be forced to marry me," she quipped, though it sounded nervous even to her own ears.

Fitzwilliam stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. As he placed his hands upon her lower back, pulling her against him, he murmured into her hair, "No, but now your father's acceptance of my suit is secure. He could not deny me after something such as this."

She laughed at his attempt at a witticism and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I suppose not, though it would be best to blame the ghosts for our predicament. I suspect he will not be pleased with our narrative otherwise."

"I shall be sure to apprise him of the facts, madam."

Elizabeth tilted her head back and raised her lips to his, searching in the darkness for the embrace of her lover. He responded immediately, assuaging her trembling with sweet caresses as his tongue reached out to taste hers. She opened for him and he delved inside, probing and searching.

She released the skirt of her nightgown to pool upon the floor and reached up to grasp his curls within her fingers. She used them to direct his head at a sharper angle, deepening their kiss, and met his tongue with strokes of her own. He groaned and pulled her tighter against him.

"Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam spoke her name as if a reverent prayer and she could feel each syllable vibrate against her teeth. One of his arms climbed her body, ascending slowly over each crest and curve, as his fingers searched out the nape of her neck where they buried themselves deep within her hair.

"Fitzwilliam," she responded, rising upon her tiptoes to even out their height as much as possible. As her breasts trailed up the flat planes of his abdomen, they tingled and sent throbbing waves of anticipation throughout the remainder of her body. It was exhilarating, like being tickled all over by sparks of static electricity. Every brush of his fingers against her scalp, every press of his palm against the bare skin of her shoulder, felt like another jolt of pleasure and increased her need for something. For...him.

"We must," Fitzwilliam paused to kiss her again, as if he could not help himself, "stop now. Before...mmm..."

Elizabeth's only response was to rub her entire body against him in an attempt to stimulate another wave of intensity. As her pelvis slid across his, she discovered a hard bulge, one that twitched upon contact with her gyrating hips.

Fitzwilliam broke their kiss to groan her name. "Elizabeth...I...," he could hardly speak, his breath bursting out of him in stuttering fits.

Elizabeth pressed against him again, grinding hard at the bulge between them, and was rewarded with another fevered exclamation from him. She hardly knew what she was doing, had really only stumbled into something that seemed to please him, but she kept at it because the friction was hardly less rewarding for her.

Eventually, Fitzwilliam's hands both dropped to her hips where they grabbed on tightly and held her against that growing tumescence betwixt their bodies. Elizabeth lost her tentative footing as he did so and fell against him, allowing her lover to take control of their motions. She threw her head back, fingernails digging into the fabric of his collar, and left her neck exposed to his hungry, searching lips. Oh, but that felt _incredible_...

Fitzwilliam began by nibbling at her earlobe, then descended down the slope of her neck toward her shoulder where he suckled gently at the tender skin at the juncture between the two. Elizabeth's panting increased as his teeth scraped against her flesh and she bucked erratically against him.

Distantly, she realized that he was walking backwards and dragging her along with him. She couldn't care at the moment, not while his mouth was so busy setting every nerve in her body on edge. She stumbled along in his wake, clinging to him as best she could to maintain her precarious balance, and allowed herself to be led.

It was growing hot in the room, making Elizabeth desperately wish to remove her voluminous nightgown as she sometimes did during the hottest months of summer. Sweat was beginning to bead along her skin as her beloved lapped and nipped at it and moisture was beginning to pool in other, more mysterious, parts as well. Pressure was building inside her, making her feel like a tea kettle ready to whistle.

The two of them jolted to a stop when Fitzwilliam backed into the bed and they broke apart for a moment, catching their breath. Elizabeth looked over his shoulder at the bedspread, knowing that she was on the precipice of no return. If she climbed into that bed with him, she would not reemerge with her maidenhood still intact. Was she prepared for that?

She returned her gaze to Fitzwilliam's face, which seemed to be asking her that very question. He did not speak, but he also refrained from doing anything else, awaiting her decision. Such devotion to her comfort at the expense of his own pleasure touched her deeply; she knew that he would dutifully step away if she asked and wait for their wedding night.

It was not a difficult decision from that point on; Elizabeth leaned forward and pressed her lips against her beloved's in answer to his silent query. His response was all that was fervent and grateful.

Fitzwilliam tipped himself backwards until he sat upon the mattress, dragging Elizabeth along with him. She perched upon one of his legs, straddling his thigh between her knees, and leaned over him as their kiss continued with abandon. His fingers found their way into her hair again and their lustful pursuit resumed.

With her full permission now in effect, Fitzwilliam became bolder with his caresses. His first order of business, it seemed, was to divest her of her baggy nightclothes and he did so by attacking at its weak point – the gaping neckline that was already drooping far lower than a modest lady should ever allow. He slipped it down her arms and she pulled her hands free of the fabric, allowing it to gather about her hips to reveal her entire torso.

Fitzwilliam pulled back from their kiss and encouraged her to sit up so that he could admire her. She blushed to be regarded so, having never been exposed to any other in such a way, but he seemed nothing if not enraptured by what he saw. "So perfect..."

His hands rose to tenderly cup her breasts, kneading their plush softness within his palms. His fingers, bless them, rolled her nipples between them and she threw her head back to moan as feelings of ecstasy overwhelmed her. Almost of their own volition, Elizabeth's hips jerked forward, rubbing the womanly juncture betwixt her legs against his thigh. Oh! If the feelings he had ignited in her before were akin to tingling static, this new sensation was nothing short of a lightning strike! She repeated the action and cried out as she experienced the same effect.

Before she could attempt a third time, Fitzwilliam had flipped her onto her back, his breathing ragged and his eyes wild. He crushed his lips to hers as he pulled the nightgown free of her backside, down the length of her legs and tossed it from the bed. He raised himself up onto his knees and fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, cursing at them for remaining stubbornly closed when he most needed them to release him from their prison. Elizabeth reached up with steadier hands to assist and, between them, he was able to shed the offending garment, which then went the way of the nightgown. His fine lawn shirt was more easily divested by Fitzwilliam pulling it over his head and tossing it into the void with all the other clothing.

Elizabeth expected him to tend to his trousers next, but he hesitated at the closure which kept his bulge from spilling forth. He collected enough breath to ask, "Are you sure?"

"_Yes_," she replied, holding her arms open to him.

Final consent obtained, Fitzwilliam unleashed his member which flopped forward between them. It was similar to what she had seen on statues in museums, but much, _much_ larger. She gulped a little when she considered where he intended to put it.

She glanced up at his face, which was strained from their efforts at lovemaking, before returning her scrutiny to that male part of him which was apparently ready to ravage her at any moment. Tentatively, she reached out to touch it.

Before her curious fingers could make contact, however, Fitzwilliam grasped her wrist and pulled it away. She looked up at him in question and he shook his head; "Too close. Next time."

He placed her naughty hand up above her head and brought the other one up to join it, presumably to prevent it from causing any mischief of its own. He transferred them both to one grip and then moved his other arm between them so that he might position himself properly. Elizabeth tipped her legs apart to welcome him in.

She felt the head of his member at her entrance and bit her lip when it skated across a particular spot which sent another one of those lightning jolts up her spine. He did it again and she gasped, arching her back upward. Then, she felt it begin to probe at her opening, though she wasn't afraid; if joining with him felt even half as good as everything else had, she expected to spend every night of their wedded life with him inside her.

His ingress was slow and the stretching was a mite uncomfortable, but the fluids that she had sensed building between her legs aided his entry and he slid inside without significant difficulty. She felt a small sting deep inside, which she supposed must be her maidenhead, but it was nothing to the sweet friction of their parts rubbing against one another. Any pain was ebbed away by the persistent throb which seemed in tune with her heartbeat.

Fitzwilliam groaned once he had fully seated himself and moved his hand upward to join all the others, bracing himself against the mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and held himself still within her for a moment, as if concentrating on something. Elizabeth remained still and quiet, not wishing to end this marvelous experience with impatience.

Once he had apparently waited long enough, Fitzwilliam slid out of her and thrust himself back in. The incredible friction was in play again as he repeated this motion over and over, increasing his speed with each withdrawal and entrance. He was soon at a frenzied pace and grunting with each impact between them.

Elizabeth dug her fingernails into the coverlet and concentrated on the wild pleasure that was washing over her body like a wave building in the sea. It rose higher...higher...oh, it would have to crest soon or she might die!

And then –

Elizabeth felt as much as heard the scream burst from her throat as that wave finally crashed down, exploding into foam upon the fantasy shoreline. Once it had, her body began to calm, drifting away upon a tide of satisfaction.

Not long after her own crest, Elizabeth felt Fitzwilliam's body stiffen as he held himself aloft, spine curved upward as his hips gave one, two, three stuttering thrusts and then stilled. A hoarse cry was ripped from deep within his chest and his manhood pulsed within her as a sudden wet heat was released into the depths of her body. His muscles relaxed and he collapsed to the side, too spent to do anything more gentlemanly than redirect his fall.

They lay next to each other, panting, as Elizabeth's mind absorbed her most recent experience. She now knew what the vicar at Longbourn church had been warning them all about; that had been absolutely transcendent! It was no wonder that so many were led into sin of this nature. She supposed she should feel guilty, or at least concerned for the potential consequences, but while her bones still felt so melted from the lightning strikes of pleasure she couldn't summon up the energy to feel anything other than sated.

Once she felt she could move again, Elizabeth reached out for Fitzwilliam's hand, which she knew to be by her side somewhere, and upon finding it intertwined their fingers together. He squeezed hers in return.

"I love you," was his throaty declaration.

Elizabeth laughed, fully and joyfully, at the canopy above their heads. "I love you, too."

o0o

SLAM!

"_For heaven's sake, George_," scolded his wife as she hovered above the carpet, her long flowing gown wafting about her as if caught in a soft breeze, "_you will scare them both to death! Be more gentle when you close doors._"

"_Me?_" scoffed George Darcy, silver and transparent in the bright moonlight. His voice echoed softly, as if from far away. "_Anne, I believe __**you**__ were the one who frightened our son's future bride so thoroughly that she fled her bedchamber in terror without a dressing gown or slippers. Imagine, showing yourself in the mirror like that..._"

Lady Anne affixed her husband with a haughty glare, as if he were a simpleton, before saying, "_How else was I supposed to effect the planned rendezvous? She needed to leave her room and so I chased her out._"

"_You could have given her a dream vision, like I did for Fitzwilliam_," George explained with exaggerated patience. "_He woke with a sudden urge to visit the gallery – voila._"

"_That only works if the living first fall asleep, and you know it!_" Lady Anne countered, her face suffused with a bright silver glow. Had she been alive, the change in her complexion would have been visible as a flush of anger. "_Elizabeth never fell asleep, ergo I could not give her a dream vision. Do pay attention, George._"

"_So much for 'til death do we part'..._" George grumbled.

His wife's head whipped in his direction, sending the tendrils of her loose snow white hair flailing about her. It moved as if submerged in water, caught in a tide that none but the undead could feel. "_What was that?_"

"_Nothing, dear._"

The squabbling spirits ignored the rattling and shaking of the closed door as their prisoners struggled to escape, caught in the heat of their bickering. Lady Anne persisted, "_I worked with the materials I was given. The mirror trick worked splendidly._"

"_Oh, yes, a perfect plan_," George scoffed. "_Though what we would have done had your little visit stopped Elizabeth's heart, I do not know. I suppose she could have continued here with us, watching Fitzwilliam slowly die of misery and grief. Then the Darcy line would have ended and we could all haunt Pemberley for eternity._"

"_Nonsense, she's a strong, healthy girl_," Lady Anne dismissed her husband's point with a regal wave of her hand. "_Were she not, she could never become the Mistress of Pemberley. Though I do think that silly Bible trick was a touch over the top. I thought she would expire on the spot when she read that verse._"

George laughed, his deep voice ebbing away into the darkness like rings on a pond. "_I disagree! I thought it was rather clever, myself._"

"_You __**would**__ think so_," replied Lady Anne. "Y_ou were always teasing poor Fitzwilliam so as a boy, pulling immature pranks. Between you and that awful Wickham boy, I am frankly amazed that he isn't some nervous little thing now. He was so sensitive._"

"_Exactly!_" cried George; a painting on the wall behind him rattled slightly as he slapped his hand upon it. "_He needed some toughening up. It worked, did it not?_"

Lady Anne shook her head and several wisps of her hair swirled around her as if floating upon the surface of reality. "_No, he simply learned to hide his feelings better. I am convinced that he would have received Elizabeth's acceptance the first time he asked for her hand had you not taught him to keep everything so bottled up inside. She did not even know he liked her!_"

"_Yes, well..._"

"_And I suppose –_ "

"_Enough, Anne, enough!_" George interrupted whatever chastisement was coming next with a huff. "_You have adequately made your point. What matters now is that they are engaged. We have succeeded._"

Lady Anne raised her eyebrow at her husband. "_And you locked them in that room together for what purpose? He got his acceptance – they shall be married. I thought we had agreed that a compromise was a last resort should one or both of them prove too stubborn or reticent to make their feelings known._"

George shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "_Consider it a wedding present to Fitzwilliam._"

"_Oh, George..._"

"_Come now, my dear_," George rumbled, levitating closer to his long-dead bride. He raised her pale hand to his transparent lips and brushed a kiss upon the back of it. She flushed silver at the contact. "_You recall what it was like to be young and in love. Our son deserves this time with his betrothed before he is required to share the news with all and sundry and revert back to being proper. Besides_," he added with a wink, "_the sooner they get started, the sooner we can see grandchildren scampering about the place. What think you of that?_"

Lady Anne rolled her eyes, but a smile was spreading across her ethereal face. "_I suppose when you put it like that..._"

"_If we are very lucky, the little ones shall even come visit us up here, like Georgiana used to. Before she got too old to believe in such things_," George pointed out. In life, he had been concerned about his youngest child when she had claimed to pay visits to her Mama in the gallery, but he had understood better when he had been at the threshold of death himself. Somehow, the veil is thinner for the very young and those on the precipice between this life and the next.

Lady Anne sighed and rested her head upon her husband's shoulder. The pair looked as if they were crafted out of moonlight. "_That would be very lovely, indeed._"

George kissed Lady Anne upon her temple, whispering, "_That's the spirit._"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, that's all folks! Epilogue to follow soon and a BONUS CHAPTER on Halloween. Just cuz I love you all.

Proceed to the next chapter if you want to see the alternate ending mentioned at the top of this page.

**Next Update: **October 7, 2019 (Epilogue)  
**Expected Completion Date: **October 31, 2019 (Bonus Chapter! Happy Halloween)

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	5. Chapter Three (Squeaky Clean)

**Title:** A Haunting at Pemberley  
**Rating: **T (PG-13) – for spooky good fun and hints of sexuality (non-explicit).  
**Disclaimer:** Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved._  
_**Setting:** Regency

**Summary:** Trapped at Pemberley during a storm, a nervous Elizabeth can't help but wonder – are the stories true? Is the great house haunted? When she races out into the hallway in a fright, she bumps into Mr Darcy...

Who ya gonna call?

There are three – count 'em, _three_ – versions of this chapter. The first is clean, the next MA 18+ and this final attempt is an alternate "Squeaky Clean" ending which features no premarital sex at all. Consider this a "pick your own adventure," I guess.

_**Please Note:**_ This version of Chapter Three was altered in accordance with the rules of the DarcyandLizzy Forum in mind. They don't allow premarital sex in Regency fics, so the conclusion of my original story needed a few tweaks. The first half is mostly the same with only a couple minor changes to accommodate the alternate ending. Consider this the "Squeaky Clean" version.

For the record, I considered it an interesting challenge to create an alternate ending and even like this one almost as much as my original. You be the judge.

* * *

_Chapter Three (Squeaky Clean)_

Miss Darcy, as had been apparent at first glance, was rather taller and a touch more broad than Elizabeth herself and so the lovely evening gown so graciously loaned to her dragged the floor as she walked. She attempted to alleviate this condition by gathering fistfuls of extra fabric and lifting it upwards, thus freeing her feet to walk unencumbered, but there was still a slight train of white that followed Elizabeth everywhere. She hoped that she would not ruin the dress before she could remove it again.

Elizabeth paused to check her appearance in the mirror above her dressing table before she descended to dinner. She appeared pale and fretful, but her hair had been neatly coiffed by Miss Darcy's lady's maid – another generous loan – and she was swathed in richer fabrics than she was generally accustomed to. The dress was a simplistic sheathe of pure white, perfect for a protected maiden such as the genteel and delicate Miss Georgiana Darcy, yet not quite right for Elizabeth herself. Perhaps it was because she was several years older than the girl who owned the garment in question, or it might be the greater knowledge of herself and the world she had gained over the past year in her interactions with Mr Darcy.

"Or," she admitted to her reflection with a laugh, tugging at the snug bodice to rearrange her...self, "maybe it's just too tight!"

Thoughts of Mr Darcy, who at last report was still missing out in the swirling tempest that had descended upon Pemberley, dropped the smile from her face in an instant. She hoped that he was well...

_Creeeeeeeeeak_.

Elizabeth looked to the door that would open out into the hallway, her increasingly wary mind checking to be sure that it was as closed as the maid had left it before returning to Miss Darcy. The portal remained sealed and she released a tense breath.

Spooked a little by the noise and her own thoughts, Elizabeth decided that it was time to go down to dinner, ready or not. Even Miss Bingley would be welcome company when compared to the specters that supposedly haunted these hallowed halls.

"Then again, perhaps not," she muttered to herself as she turned the knob and released herself into the corridor.

Outside her assigned chamber, all was as quiet as it should be. There was no one about, the other guests having noisily passed by her door already as she finished stuffing her bosom into her dress; even the servants had apparently found work elsewhere. The only sound apparent to her ears was the soft pitter-patter of her own slippers upon the carpet.

She released a shaky laugh in reference to her own foolishness and stepped fully outside of her chambers, sealing the door behind her, and began her trek toward the main staircase at the far end of the hall. Taking a fistful of her skirts in each hand, Elizabeth proceeded on her way, a long train of white silk following just behind. She paused just outside her room to smirk at a particular piece of decoration displayed upon a spindly table on the opposite side of the corridor.

Much like the rest of Pemberley, the guest wing in this vast estate was lush with expensive furnishings, including a long oriental-patterned rug which spanned the entire length of the corridor, various portraits which were apparently too small or not valuable enough to be displayed in the gallery and even a few polished tables which held delicate looking artifacts. Elizabeth had gazed upon the different pieces with varying degrees of appreciation as she passed them on the way to her rooms earlier, complimenting a portrait signed by Miss Darcy herself and scoffing at a particularly ugly vase which had been placed on display just outside her rooms.

Miss Darcy's sweet watercolor of Pemberley's lake had likely been relegated to this hallway as an early work, but it was still rather good in an amateurish way. The vase, in contrast, was a gaudy, pretentious red-and-gold abomination which would have looked perfectly at home at Rosings Park but which stood out horribly against the good taste of Pemberley. Elizabeth mused to herself, pausing before the unsightly thing as she moved away from her bedchamber, that it had likely been a gift from Lady Catherine. She further entertained herself with the theory that the refined Darcys most likely had placed it in this area of the house just so that the grand dame would see it when she visited. That seemed the only reasonable explanation for why such a hideously ornate urn would not have been relegated to the storage room immediately upon receipt.

Elizabeth was ready to move on from her scathing internal condemnation of the object and had turned to do so when the hem of her borrowed dress snagged upon the leg of the little table upon which it sat.

"Oh, bother!" she complained, exasperated by her own clumsiness. Something that horrid was likely to be very expensive and Elizabeth did not relish the idea of reimbursing Mr Darcy for something she would rather throw on the trash heap herself.

She tugged at the fabric gently to avoid tearing it, but the jarring motion caused the vase to shake and clatter upon its perch. With a little more force, her skirt came free and, thankfully, the ugly, yet fragile urn remained otherwise unmolested in its spot.

Until, of course, she bumped directly into it with her elbow.

"Lizzy, you clumsy ox!" she castigated herself with a nervous laugh as she, upon reflex, reached out and caught the vase just as it was about ready to tumble over the edge of its spindly little table. She replaced it where she had found it and backed slowly away lest she upset its balance again.

Pit-pat-sqsh, pit-pat-sqush, pit-pat-sqush.

Elizabeth halted in the middle of the corridor, arrested there by the sound of approaching footsteps. There was something a little strange about them; they sounded a little...wet, like whenever she tracked muddy boots through the kitchen at Longbourn.

Her imagination seized upon the image of a ghastly pale figure, dripping wet and stalking the hallways as if she still lived. A chill suddenly accosted her, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.

Elizabeth shook the notion away and scurried forward, intent on making the stairs quickly and returning to the comfort of people down below. The hem of her borrowed gown hissed against the weave of the carpet as it skimmed over the floor at an accelerated pace. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, refusing to even so much as glance at a door or window as she passed them. If she could but –

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, colliding into something solid with a wet smack and bouncing backwards. She tumbled and fell onto her backside, her pale skirts flaring around her as she descended to the floor and resettling around her in haphazard fashion.

"Miss Bennet! Forgive me, I was not attending to where I was going. Are you injured?"

Elizabeth raised her eyes to behold Mr Darcy, once more soaked to the skin by misadventure, hovering over her like a sopping wet statue come to life. He looked most startled to see her crumpled upon the floor at his feet.

"I am quite well, sir, but I thank you for your concern," she replied, feeling her face warm in a blush. She placed a hand upon her heaving bosom, directly over her rapidly beating heart, and encouraged herself to calm silently.

Mr Darcy still loomed before her and she could not help a covert peek at him from beneath the veil of her lashes. He really was quite handsome in every situation, she could not deny it. With his nearly black hair mussed by wind and rain, his clothing hugged as closely to his person as absolutely possible and his towering height, he looked like a dark Gothic hero torn from the pages of a novel.

His eyes, too, appeared to be lost in study, though his subject was her; she could practically feel the cool gray gaze whispering over her skin, even on the parts of her that were covered by clothing, as he scanned her from top to toe. When they reached her feet, they rested there and she followed his gaze.

"Oh!" she cried out, mortified, as she rushed to cover herself with the drape of her skirts. He hadn't seen an excessive amount, only her ankles and the tops of her slippered feet, but it was still more than any other man had ever seen of her person and it was hardly ladylike to allow anyone besides her husband the privilege.

"I-I beg your pardon," Mr Darcy apologized, darting his eyes away from her exposure as she corrected her clothing.

"No, I should apologize, sir," she disputed, feeling distinctly warm in his presence. "I should have been more aware of where I was going and – "

She stopped as she felt him kneel down next to her and place a tentative hand on her shoulder; he was careful to only touch that which was covered by silk. "I should have not allowed you to fall. Had I behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner – " He stopped himself there and they both looked away as the pain of old memories rose to the surface of their minds.

Elizabeth broke the awkward silence that had sprung up between them a long moment later with a hesitating laugh. "Mr Darcy, I believe we shall miss dinner if we sit here arguing over who is most at fault in this situation. I think it more expedient to simply agree to share the blame. Yes?"

Their gazes made contact again and he smiled. "If I must."

"I insist!" she replied, a more genuine chuckle escaping her this time. "Now, if you would be so kind as to assist me to my feet, I may go downstairs and deliver the good news of your safe return to the house. Why, pray tell, were you out for so long in this dreadful weather?"

Mr Darcy stood and extended both of his hands for her to take. She did so and he hefted Elizabeth to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. "I was not out in this for so very long, actually. I helped young Gordon to the stables where he could be tended to and then attempted to wait out the downpour. When it seemed I would either have to brave the elements again or sleep in a pile of hay, I made a run for it."

Elizabeth, a little flustered to be so close to him after he'd pulled her into a standing position, took a step back and clasped her hands at her waist. She struggled to minimize the discomfort in her voice as she said, "Well, you look as if you have been swimming in the lake again! We really must stop meeting like this, sir."

"I suppose you are correct, Miss Bennet," he agreed, swiping his fingers through his dripping curls. When he dropped his arm back to his side, his hair remained slicked back away from his face, making his cheekbones more prominent than ever before. His eyes were strikingly pale in contrast. "I would escort you downstairs, but I fear I am hardly presentable."

"I forgive you, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth teased, dropping her gaze as she felt suddenly bashful. "I shall make your excuses when I arrive down there myself."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet."

o0o

"Well, I say that we should not hold dinner for _her_ sake," Miss Bingley's voice floated out of the open drawing room door into the corridor as Elizabeth approached it, careful not to tread on the length of skirt which exceeded her height. Now that Mr Darcy was returned safely to the house, her amusement at the lady's expense had returned and she bit her lip against the assault of laughter bubbling up within her chest. The presumptuous woman spoke as if she were already mistress of the house! "Guests should be courteous enough to their hosts to arrive downstairs _on time_ for a meal. Perhaps her countrified manners are too lax for the fashionable world."

"_You_ have only been downstairs for the past five minutes, Caroline," Mr Bingley's voice rose in Elizabeth's defense. How very like him. "I think we can grant Miss Elizabeth a few more minutes leeway. Moreover, it is not even half past six yet."

Miss Bingley did not respond to this, but Elizabeth could imagine the haughty expression on her face as if it were before her. The lady's nose would be tipped upwards into the air, of course, and her eyelids would be half-lidded in a show of affected boredom as she gazed off into the middle distance. And her mouth, those thin, pale lips, would be pressed together into a firm line. Overall, she would give the impression of a finicky cat refusing to acknowledge a dead mouse.

Elizabeth entered the room in a swish of silk and was greeted by most with warm cordiality. Miss Bingley and the Hursts were the only exceptions; the Superior Sisters had both adopted identical airs of long suffering impatience over her supposed tardiness and Mr Hurst showed no interest at all. If she were not mistaken, he appeared to be dozing in his chair.

"Lizzy! There you are," called Aunt Gardiner, patting the seat on the sofa next to hers. "I had wondered if you had gotten lost."

"Not at all, Aunt," Elizabeth replied, accepting her invitation to sit. "I happened to encounter Mr Darcy in the hallway upstairs as he was returning to his chambers. He bid me to inform you all that he is very well, although very _wet_, and that he would be down directly after changing his clothing."

Mr Gardiner's shoulders shook with unexpressed laughter. "Been swimming with the spirits again, eh?"

"Hardly, Uncle," Elizabeth replied, her own irrepressible smile appearing on her lips, "but I admit that he looks as if he might have. He claims to have taken temporary shelter in the stables, though he made the debatable decision to make a run for the house when he realized that the rain was not about to let up tonight."

"'Swimming with the spirits again'?" Miss Darcy, surprisingly, spoke up. When the eyes of the room turned upon her, she blushed and looked down at her hands, which were fiddling with one another in her lap.

"Did he not tell you?" Elizabeth asked, vastly amused.

Miss Darcy shook her head. "Tell me what?"

"Why, the other day when we were touring Pemberley..."

Miss Darcy and most of the other guests seemed to enjoy Elizabeth's retelling of her inauspicious reunion with her host, told with great animation and humor. Mr Bingley openly guffawed at his friend's expense as Mr Gardiner added little asides to her tale, amusing details Elizabeth either forgot or glossed over, and added greatly to its hilarity. His wife shook her head and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, but there was a thin smile upon her features that belied her exasperation. Mrs Annesley hid a grin behind her fan and Georgiana, likely used to considering her brother as a paragon of all that was proud and serious, kept both hands cupped over her mouth as if she could physically contain her laughter. Even Mr Hurst woke from his stupor to comment, "I say, do you suppose he was attempting to catch his next meal with his bare hands?" which earned him some general laughter.

"Certainly not."

All eyes turned to the open doorway to find Mr Darcy standing within it, framed by its contours. His expression was rather grim.

Elizabeth bit her lip, having only considered for the first time that Mr Darcy, so unused to being teased, might not appreciate having their shared embarrassing experience canvassed amongst the company. Was he angry?

She glanced around the room and saw matching looks of trepidation on Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley, chagrined smiles on the gentlemen present, another shake of the head from her aunt and on the Superior Sisters, both of whom had been vociferously offended on Mr Darcy's behalf, a shared look and matching smirks. They all turned their attention to Mr Darcy and awaited the set down that was surely coming.

"I was trying to catch it with my teeth."

The drawing room was silent for a long moment as Mr Darcy's jest was absorbed by all present. Then, almost as one, the company began to laugh. Even Mrs Hurst joined in initially, until censored by a sharp glare from her sister.

Elizabeth turned her eyes to Mr Darcy and clamped her lips together, though she knew that her mirth was bubbling up out of her eyes. Upon his own face, a smile was sprouting as he returned her gaze. She felt a bashful flush rise in her cheeks as they continued to look at one another for some extended seconds.

"A_hem_," a stiff voice interrupted, "dinner is served." The butler stood just behind Mr Darcy, bowed at the waist as he made his announcement.

"Speaking of," murmured Mr Darcy loud enough for the company to hear, earning a few more chuckles. "Shall we?"

All the occupants of the room rose, each of the gentlemen offering his escort to at least one lady, and they proceeded out into the corridor toward the dining room. Miss Bingley hovered by the doorway, clearly waiting for Mr Darcy's arm, and watching as he instead approached Elizabeth.

"Miss Bennet, may I have the honor of escorting you in to dinner?" Mr Darcy requested with a bow.

Elizabeth gathered a portion of her long skirts in one fist and placed her other hand upon his proffered arm. "I would be delighted, sir."

Hearing a snort from across the room, Elizabeth peeked over Mr Darcy's shoulder to see Miss Bingley's turned back as she left the room with her nose in the air. Apparently, she would have Mr Darcy's undivided attention or nothing at all.

"I suppose at dinner you will be telling all and sundry about my dishabille above stairs next?" Mr Darcy asked, bringing Elizabeth's focus back to where it belonged. He was still smiling, so she accepted his query as sporting.

"Not at all, sir," she denied, feeling quite impish, indeed. "I was going to ask you for some advice on fishing."

o0o

"So, Mr Darcy, what have you to say about these stories we have been hearing since we arrived in Lambton? Are the hallowed halls of Pemberley truly haunted?" Mr Gardiner asked as he carved his delectably tender slice of beef into bite sized pieces. He placed one into his mouth and sighed in appreciation for the flavor.

Mr Darcy raised his head away from Elizabeth on his left, with whom he had been indulging in quiet conversation on various subjects, and fixed her uncle with a quizzical expression. "I beg your pardon?"

"We have heard from two separate sources," Mr Gardiner, seated on his other side, continued, flicking a glance to a clearly embarrassed Miss Darcy, "about how this great house is supposedly afflicted with various spirits. What say you, sir?"

Elizabeth wished to melt into the floor. Had her silly mother been present, she could not have asked a more mortifying question. Likely excessively vulgar, but not more mortifying. She resisted the urge to bury her face between her hands and instead focused on the delicious food she no longer wished to eat.

"I have heard several such stories, but they are all rubbish," Mr Darcy replied succinctly. "I have resided here my entire life, save for those years I was away at school or university, and have never seen anything that I would consider supernatural. The villagers tend to be superstitious."

After swallowing his bite, Mr Gardiner countered, "Then how do you explain what happened to our Lizzy the other day just before we fished you from the lake, eh?"

Elizabeth could feel Mr Darcy's scrutiny burning into her scalp, but she refused to look at him, even when he asked, "Happened? What happened to Eli – Miss Bennet?"

"It was nothing," she tried to deny, raising her head to affix him with a smile she hoped was charming. "This sauce is divine, Mr Darcy. Might I take the recipe home to Cook at Longbourn? I know my father would enjoy it."

"Why, she was chased around the house by ghosts, sir!" Mr Gardiner continued as if she had not spoken at all. His tone was infused with jolly amusement.

"'Ghosts,' Miss Eliza?" Miss Bingley broke in from midway down the table where she had been sitting in sullen silence so far. Now her face was split with a smirk at Elizabeth's expense. "Perhaps you should try speaking to a physician rather than the dead."

"I never claimed to see a ghost, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth reminded her with a touch of asperity. The lady raised her eyebrow slightly, increasing the overall smugness of her expression.

"But something did happen during your tour of Pemberley, Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy interrupted, returning the attention of all to his end of the table.

Elizabeth averted her eyes to her plate and speared a potato with her fork. "Not at all, sir. My uncle exaggerates."

"Come now, Lizzy," Mr Gardiner persisted, "it is hardly something to be so missish about! You remember that she was alone when she stumbled across you in the lake, yes?" he said this to Mr Darcy, who nodded, a small frown upon his lips and brow. "Well, she had become separated from us after our visit to your excellent gallery. While there, apparently, a door opened of its own accord and a window within the same room slammed itself shut and then would not open again. All likely caused by some mischievous wind." Well, at least he had left out the part about the Bible in the master's study.

"I see," said Mr Darcy, turning back to Elizabeth. "I apologize, Miss Bennet, if such events gave you a fright. I shall see to the maintenance of my doors and windows immediately."

"It was nothing," Elizabeth repeated with some vehemence, drawing a scowl upon her face and directing it at Mr Gardiner. "Truly, as my uncle has said, it was likely nothing more than the wind. I am sure there is nothing amiss in your lovely house, Mr Darcy."

"Of course not! Pemberley is perfection itself," interjected Miss Bingley and the subject turned to flattering her host and all his possessions. She was largely ignored by the party; even Mrs Hurst, her staunchest supporter, only listened to her monologue with one ear.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy resumed their conversation from earlier, but her embarrassment over the silly matter of her misadventure put rather a damper on her enthusiasm. She wished she could simply laugh off her humiliation as he had, but she felt so conscious in his presence since reuniting with him that it was difficult for her to do so.

Then again, she supposed that it was silly of her to hold onto her mortification when he hadn't and vowed to make more of an effort to overcome it. With that in mind, she took a breath and joked, "Pemberley may not be haunted, but I assure you that Longbourn_ is_. Sir, while you were in Hertfordshire did any of the locals happen to tell you the tale of the ghostly goat?"

Mr Darcy's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter and his enigmatic smile grew until it was a grin. "I cannot say I have had that pleasure."

"Well, it all began when my great-great-Granny Bennet put out her wash one fine day..."

o0o

Elizabeth lay in bed that night listening to the thunder grumble above her like a grumpy old man. The storm had largely worn itself out, but there were still occasional flashes of weak lightning or smatterings of rain against the windowpane. It was only minutes til midnight and still Elizabeth could not sleep.

Perhaps it was all this talk of ghosts, or even her own ridiculous experience from the other day, but she was suspicious of every noise, whether it be a footstep in the corridor or a gust of wind brushing against the house. She was spooked, though loathe to admit it.

With a sigh, Elizabeth kicked her covers off and raised herself into a sitting position. She readjusted the shoulder of her nightgown again – the troublesome thing kept slipping down her arm – and huffed at her own foolishness. How could she have gotten herself so caught up in ghost stories? Spirits _did not exist_ and, even if they did, she certainly had never seen one, strange coincidences aside. If only she could take a walk to clear her head...

"Well, why not?" she said to the darkness. She could always pace the halls a little bit, so long as she was careful not to wander too far. Walking was the only thing that ever truly helped her calm her distress and, though it was always most effective out of doors surrounded by nature, she had been known to circle the house at home when that was not an option. Pemberley would be even more suited to the task since it was so much larger; she would surely disturb no one, even if it were the middle of the night.

Then again, perhaps it was not the best idea to go wandering around an unfamiliar estate in the middle of the night with no guide. She could get lost and never make it back to her room, which would be a rather unseemly end to her visit when she was discovered wandering the halls alone in the morning wearing her nightclothes. Perhaps she should simply pace around her chambers?

Still undecided, yet eager to move regardless, Elizabeth lowered her feet to the floor and stood. She picked up the long train of her nightgown – another overly large loan from Miss Darcy – and padded over to the vanity where she had left her candle. With a strike of flint, a flame was sparked and the room was awash in a warm glow.

She picked up her refreshed light source and rose from her bent position, catching a glimpse of her own reflection as she straightened. Sheathed in fine white cotton, her face half-shaded in the glow of the candle, she nearly looked as if _she_ were haunting the place. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and chuckled at the thought as she pulled the loaned white silk dressing gown off the back of the vanity chair and donned it, tying it securely about her waist.

A flicker of movement caught her attention and Elizabeth's vision latched onto the source in the mirror. Her heart seized – she wasn't alone.

Over her shoulder, Elizabeth could see a tall figure draped in white looming in the background against the far wall. It was a lady, if Elizabeth had to guess, and her long, silvery hair fell down to her waist, framing a deathly pale face. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating her bedchamber in stark white light, and she disappeared for an instant, only to reappear when the room returned to shadow.

Elizabeth gasped and whirled around, her shaking hand losing its grip upon the candelabra. Her torch fell to the floor and extinguished itself just as her eyes locked upon the spot where she was expecting to find the mysterious lady; the entire chamber was pitched into darkness.

The only things Elizabeth could hear were the hard pitter-pattering of her own heart, the harsh rasp of her quickened breath and the low vibration from the sky above. If there was another person in the room with her, they were completely silent and did not make their presence known to her.

"H-Hello?" she called out. There was no answer.

Another flash of lightning brightened the room for a split second, confirming that she was alone. A sharp chill was her only companion. Had she imagined it? Her mind, so saturated by ghost stories of late, might have conjured a specter from her mind.

That surely was it, but she was far too frightened to remain another moment. Without even donning slippers, Elizabeth picked up the hem of her nightgown and raced to the door, flinging it open and practically throwing herself out into the hallway. She stumbled a little at the threshold, but did not stop.

o0o

Some time later, Elizabeth finally halted her mad dash from her room to rest against a convenient wall, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath. She closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow its rapid beating before it burst from her ribs. Slowly, and with much concentration, Elizabeth calmed.

Clutching at the neckline of her robe, Elizabeth raised her lids to look about her and determine where her flight had taken her. She was in a corridor that looked somewhat familiar, though she wasn't positive that it truly was or if all the internal pathways at Pemberley simply bore resemblance to one another. She wasn't in the guest wing any longer, that much was for certain, and she did not remember taking any stairs to the lower floor, but that only narrowed down her position slightly. She was somewhat concerned about becoming lost, but she was still a touch too frightened by the workings of her imagination – for that was the only explanation for what she thought she had seen in the mirror – to return to her assigned chambers. Thus, Elizabeth decided to proceed with her exploration for the moment and then retrace her steps once she had gathered the courage to go back to bed.

It was rather dark in the hall, but there was a line of windows to one side that let in some light. She walked over to the nearest one and peered out, confirming that the clouds above were clearing and that the full moon was peeking out to cast a silver glow upon the landscape. The magnificent orb glittered upon the surface of the lake, reminding Elizabeth of the young bride who had supposedly drowned there. Had that been the specter in the mirror...?

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously to dispel the ridiculous thought, reminding herself harshly, "It was not _real_, Lizzy. You were imagining things." Still, the concept would not leave her and she crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the chill that gripped her.

She began drifting down the hallway again, the hem of her nightgown whispering across the carpet as she strolled, awash in the glow of cool moonlight. Her dark curls, loosened from their braid, draped across her shoulders like a shawl and fell past her waist. The dark mass of her hair fanned out behind her in the breeze created by her motion. "I must look very much like a spirit myself," she mused, weakly smiling at the idea.

Elizabeth felt a touch better at this amusing thought and cast her gaze about her surroundings, searching for any hints as to her location. There was a large landscape upon the wall facing the windows depicting rolling golden fields at harvest time, dotted with servants hacking away at them with scythes. A little further down, between the landscape and another painting of fruit, was a marble bust that sported Mr Darcy's nose. She was in the gallery!

The moon was of great assistance to her perusal of the artwork scattered along the walls as she searched for one portrait in particular. Elizabeth knew that it was about midway down the line, placed in prominence so that all visitors would be sure to see it during their tour, and she felt that she must be close...

There! Up ahead was the grand portrait of the current Master of Pemberley. Elizabeth gripped her skirts within both hands and lifted them out of the way of her feet as she scampered more quickly toward the image of her Mr Darcy.

Well, perhaps not _her_ Mr Darcy, but the one she knew personally. Not personally, but –

'_Oh, never mind.'_

She halted in front of him and cast her gaze upward to rest upon the softly smiling face that seemed to watch her with benevolence. There was a window directly across from Mr Darcy's portrait, allowing Elizabeth the benefit of the bright moonlight to trace his features with her eyes. Had it been full daylight, she could not have seen him better. She sighed and relaxed; even as a painting, Mr Darcy's presence soothed her fears.

Recalling that there was a bench behind her, she determined to take a rest as she scrutinized the portrait. Unwilling to remove her stare from the glossy face of Mr Darcy, she walked backwards without breaking eye contact with the image upon the wall. Mr Darcy continued to smile back approvingly.

When her back met something solid and warm, Elizabeth screeched and whipped around, stumbling over the hem of her nightgown as she turned. A pair of strong, warm hands gripped her upper arms as she fell, terminating her descent to the carpet below.

"_Mr Darcy_!" she exclaimed as, indeed, the original stood before her, looking nearly as startled by her presence as she was by his. Had she somehow conjured him?

"E-Elizabeth!" he stuttered in response. Then, perhaps remembering that to address her so informally was improper, he cleared his throat and spoke again in more sedate tones, "Miss Bennet. What do you here in the middle of the night?"

"I might ask you the same, sir, though I suppose you have every right in your own house," Elizabeth replied. Her heart was beating fast again, though she was unsure whether it was due to fright or some other extreme emotion of the moment.

"I...could not sleep," Mr Darcy explained, "I sometimes wander the hallways until I am tired enough for repose."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh at the similarity of their habits. "I, myself, do something similar on occasion. You shall receive no judgment from me."

"Is that what you are doing now?"

Elizabeth shook her head and flicked her stare downward, focusing it upon his chest. He was more formally attired than herself, though not by much; his coat and cravat were both missing, leaving his shirt gaping open at the top, but he retained his waistcoat and trousers from earlier in the evening.

Taking stock of Mr Darcy's clothing reminded Elizabeth of her own dishabille and she looked down to reassure herself that she was still covered. The extra layer of gossamer silk was in place, exposing no additional skin which was not available for viewing during the daytime – indeed, she was probably _more_ covered now than whilst wearing even one of her more modest day gowns – but she still felt practically naked. Men who were not her husband were not supposed to be permitted to the sight of her in her nightclothes.

She lifted her regard back up to his visage, wary of the disgust she half expected to see in response to her disheveled state, but found that he was surveying her with something akin to wonder. Elizabeth coughed and his attention returned to her face. He was as red as she felt. "Apologies, Eliz – _ahem_, Miss Bennet," he said, releasing her at last and taking one long step backwards.

Elizabeth clutched at the material nearest her throat with one hand, her other resting at her waistline where nervous butterflies fluttered within, as an awkward realization settled in her mind. Should anyone ever find out about this meeting, she would be completely ruined. Would Mr Darcy, a man she had already rejected, even attempt to recover her reputation through marriage? She hated the thought of making him obliged to her, even if what she really wanted was –

"Oh, Lord," Elizabeth whispered, primarily to herself, as she realized that all her pondering over Mr Darcy led to one excruciatingly simple, and yet so very complicated, conclusion: she was in love with him. She released the hand at her throat from its duty to cup over her mouth as the shock washed over her.

"Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy's voice sounded far away, muted by the pounding of her heart. It almost seemed as if it echoed off the walls of the corridor, drowning out all sound besides itself. "Elizabeth? Are you well?"

"I..."

She felt a soft touch upon her elbow and followed its lead, finding herself placed upon the bench she had been blindly searching for when she had bumped into Mr Darcy. Elizabeth sat down, guided by the man she loved. _Loved_.

"Elizabeth, please," Mr Darcy called to her. When she didn't respond, a touch to her chin turned her face toward him so that she might look upon his concerned expression. "Tell me what I can do. Shall I fetch you a glass of wine? Truly, you look very ill."

The laugh that burst from Elizabeth's lips was hoarse. "No, no I am very well indeed, sir. I have just realized..."

"Yes?"

"I have realized...," but she still couldn't say it. How could she when she had thrown his own words of adoration back in his face only four months ago? A tear trickled down Elizabeth's face and she looked down in shame.

Mr Darcy tipped her chin back up again, his eyes shining silver in the moonlight streaming in from the window. They were half-lidded and closing in...

_Creeeeeeeeeeeeak_.

The couple sprang apart at the sudden sound, Elizabeth's heart palpitating both from the interrupted anticipation caused by Mr Darcy's descending lips and terror at the thought of being caught in such a way. There would be no innocent explanation for two unmarried people, each improperly dressed, kissing – well, _almost_ kissing – each other in a darkened gallery by themselves. Though she was certainly not against the notion of marrying Mr Darcy, it would absolutely not do to be caught in a compromising situation. Some ladies of Miss Bingley's ilk might consider such a thing to be an appropriate means to catch a husband, but it was, in fact, a shameful way to begin a life with your new partner, no matter how much affection existed between the parties involved.

"Did you hear that?" Mr Darcy whispered, his breath rushing over the shell of her ear. She shivered a little, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

"Yes," she replied, equally quiet. "Do you see anyone about?"

They both rotated their heads around the space, searching silently for intruders. A short survey told them that they were, in fact, quite alone as they had thought originally. There was no place to hide in a long corridor filled with nothing but artwork on the walls and the occasional slender marble pedestal. The bench upon which the couple sat was the only piece of furniture within view.

A creeping suspicion tingled up Elizabeth's spine and she peeked over Mr Darcy's shoulder toward the end of the passage. Sure enough, that same door which had lured her inside days ago stood open, a sliver of moonlight cutting through the thick shadows at the far reaches of the hall. She tapped her betrothed on the shoulder and indicated her discovery.

"Was that...open when you arrived?" she asked, though she rather figured she knew the answer.

"No." Of course not. "'Tis an unused bedchamber, one we only open when we have an overflow in the guest wing."

"I know," Elizabeth replied, burrowing closer to Mr Darcy's chest as a chill shuddered through her body. It only dimly occurred to her that she should be embarrassed by such a familiar action. "That is the same door that opened mysteriously during my tour..."

Mr Darcy's head snapped toward her so quickly Elizabeth wouldn't have been surprised if he'd caused himself a crick. "Indeed?"

She nodded. "The very one."

Mr Darcy stood, eyes locked upon the innocent-looking door with the intense concentration that she had sometimes seen him utilize while watching her across a room of people, though the smile was absent. "Stay here," he ordered, walking briskly toward the light seeping into the hall from the mysterious chamber.

Elizabeth jumped to her feet without bothering to consider it first and caught up to him with a few speedy strides. He had longer steps than she, but it wasn't difficult to make up the difference with quickness. "Wait! I shall come with you."

"Elizabeth, stay here," he argued, stopping to turn and look directly at her. She couldn't see his expression as it was cast in darkness, but she could imagine his commanding "Master of Pemberley" look. "I shall see what it is."

Before Mr Darcy could progress further, Elizabeth clutched at his arm and held fast. He halted more in deference to her silent plea than her strength, turning back to look at her.

"Please," she squeaked, a tremble she was unaccustomed to entering her voice. Rather than look at her host's no doubt concerned face, her gazed was fixed beyond him upon the sinister door which appeared to be luring them inside. She shuddered and turned her gaze up to his eyes, begging, "Do not go."

Mr Darcy's expression softened and he placed his hands upon her shivering fingers which were still clutching his sleeve. He pried them loose and brought them to his lips where he bestowed a sweet, comforting kiss before saying, "Come, I shall escort you back to your chambers."

Remembering the ghoul that had chased her out into the hallway earlier gave Elizabeth pause against this suggestion, but there really was nothing for it. They could not stand about in the gallery all night – what would her aunt and uncle say if they were discovered, alone and improperly dressed? – and she couldn't request a different bedchamber at this late hour, so she resigned herself to face whatever lurked in the darkness there. Hopefully, it would not be averse to her presence when she returned.

"Very well," she agreed, looping her arm through his as if they were about to promenade around the house like respectable people in the light of day. "Please, sir, lead on."

She followed Mr Darcy as they retreated the way she had come, toward the corridor which would lead them back in the direction of the guest quarters. Before she could round the bend, she cast one more glance over her shoulder toward the presumably empty room.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeak – SNAP!

The door closed just as it escaped her sight.

o0o

Elizabeth halted to a sudden stop as they approached her bedroom door, still ajar from her speedy escape earlier in the night. She repressed the impulse to quiver as she stood before it, transferring her tension into the grip she had upon Mr Darcy's arm.

"Are you well, Miss Bennet?" he whispered, bowing his head closer to hers so that their conversation might continue to go overlooked in the seemingly empty hallway. Though out of sight, the other guests slept in miscellaneous chambers along the hall and could waken at any moment to discover them out of bed. Ghosts would be a paltry excuse for two unmarried people to be discovered together in the dead of night – and improperly dressed, to boot.

But Elizabeth did not wish to go into her assigned room. She stared at the half open door and trembled, clutching Mr Darcy's arm tightly within her own.

Elizabeth felt entirely ridiculous, but she was forced to admit to herself that she was afraid. Afraid to be by herself in the dark where the shadows of the dead prowled just out of sight. Earlier, when she had been at a distance in the gallery, she had nearly convinced herself that it was only her imagination which was haunted, but faced with the scene of her near escape had brought all her trepidation back to the fore of her consciousness.

"Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy repeated; she could tell from his tone that he was growing anxious, though his expression betrayed little beyond placid calm. Only the slight lowering of his brow belied any concern he might be feeling.

'_Do not be so foolish, Lizzy,_' she chided within her mind as she gulped her terror down. '_You_ _cannot stay out in the hall all night. Be brave and go inside._'

"I am very well, indeed," was what she said aloud, tilting her head back so that she could smile directly at Mr Darcy. He looked both curious and, though he was clearly trying to hide it, worried. "Thank you for escorting me back; I am sure I would have gotten lost without your guidance."

She loosened the hold she had upon his arm and allowed her hand to slip away from him. She placed this same palm upon the wooden grain of her door and pressed lightly, wincing at the tiny squeak of the hinges as it swung inward to allow her access to her chamber. Elizabeth warily leaned forward and shifted her eyes from left to right, searching for anything unusual or out of place; all seemed as it should be.

Once her survey was complete, she cast a final tremulous smile over her shoulder at her beloved Mr Darcy and whispered, "Goodnight."

Mr Darcy, his mien still plagued by an air of perplexity, no doubt as a result of her odd reluctance to enter her assigned room, appeared as if he might wish to say something to her. He apparently thought better of it and simply rumbled, "Goodnight, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and turned back toward the gaping doorway, ready to plunge herself back into the unknown darkness, but seized into perfect stillness before she could take a single step over the threshold. A seeping coldness had wrapped itself around her like a frozen shroud.

CRASH!

Elizabeth shrieked and stumbled backwards where Mr Darcy's arms were spread apart and awaiting her descent; he caught her deftly and pulled her up to his chest where she gripped at the fabric of his shirtsleeves in desperate fear. Her heart was beating at an accelerated pace and her breath was coming from her body in strangled gasps, but she was soothed by the warm strength that was wrapped about her.

"Wh-What was that?" she stammered, her nose and forehead pressed into the crook of Mr Darcy's neck.

In this position, she could feel him turn his head from side to side as he looked for the source of the disturbance. "That vase," he rumbled; she could feel as well as hear his words as they vibrated from deep within his chest and up through his throat.

Elizabeth relaxed her grip upon his clothing and peered around him to see the same urn she had nearly broken earlier this afternoon, that horribly ugly gilded thing, in pieces upon the carpet just behind them. Of all the –

"Elizabeth, are you well?" Mr Darcy asked, his warm breath ruffling the small hairs falling around her forehead.

She craned her neck backwards to look up into his face, which was separated from hers by mere inches. Should she lean forward, just a little bit, their lips would touch.

Mr Darcy's eyes, just as they had in the gallery, began to droop as he closed the distance between them. Once Elizabeth felt his lips press against hers, a whoosh of relieved air left her lungs as if this was what she had been anticipating. Perhaps it was and she hadn't known it herself until just now.

Her hands released the front of his clothing without prior thought and rose to bury themselves in the curls at the back of his head, pulling them closer together. Mr Darcy tilted his head to one side, encouraging Elizabeth to do the same in the other direction, and their mouths melded together in the most perfect way.

"_What_ is going on out here?"

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy sprung apart as their interlude was interrupted by the deep, offended voice of her uncle. The door just down the hall and to her left, the one assigned to her relations, was open and both Mr and Mrs Gardiner were in the corridor, their faces highlighted by the ambient glow of the candle in her uncle's hand. Just beyond them stood Mr Bingley in a long nightcap draped over his shoulder and his younger sister in a frilly peach robe; he looked befuddled by sleep whilst she appeared to have swallowed something unpleasant.

"Ahem," coughed Mr Darcy, stepping a little closer to Elizabeth whilst keeping his hands locked firmly behind his back. "This is not what it appears."

"No?" queried Mr Gardiner in a hard tone, all former joviality gone from his face. "I am tempted to think that you were embracing my niece just outside her bedroom in the middle of the night, but perhaps I was mistaken."

Elizabeth could hear Mr Darcy shifting upon his feet and, without daring to look at him, reached out her fingers to stroke only once and very gently against the knot of hands he held against his back. He relaxed slightly.

"Uncle," said Elizabeth, darting her eyes toward her aunt for assistance. Mrs Gardiner raised an eyebrow in response, but nodded slightly at her niece. "I know that you are thinking we had planned a...an assignation," she could feel heat seeping into her cheeks as she said this, "but, truly, that was not our intention."

Mr Gardiner scoffed, his voice rising higher as his temper did also. "Oh? What, pray tell, were you doing out here, then?"

"I heard a noise," replied Elizabeth, nodding at the broken shards of the vase that were scattered upon the carpet on the other side of the hall from herself, "and came out to investigate. I got frightened and Mr Darcy was kind enough to calm me. It was nothing more sinister than that."

"If you think I am going to believe such – "

Mr Gardiner's increasingly irate speech was cut off by the gentle press of his wife's palm against his arm. He looked down at her, surveyed her thinned mouth and raised eyebrows, and subsided. Mrs Gardiner then spoke more calmly, "Edward, I believe this is a conversation for the morning. Surely Mr Darcy can explain himself at a more proper hour. For now, I think it is enough to confirm that his intentions are honorable."

Here, Mrs Gardiner turned her man-taming look upon Mr Darcy, who shuffled half a step back. Elizabeth bit her lip to prevent herself from bursting out laughing at the thought that her love was cowed by a woman who was not even his wife. She glanced up at him, an impish eyebrow raised.

He returned her expression, arched brow for arched brow, before aiming his attention at the waiting Gardiners and affirming, "They are."

There was a strangled, guttural sound from just beyond the Gardiners and Elizabeth directed her eyes toward the forgotten Bingleys. Mr Bingley still looked a little bemused, but a smile was spread across his face nonetheless as he cheerfully accepted the scene before him. _Miss_ Bingley, on the other hand, appeared as if she were about to be sick.

"See, Edward? Nothing so horrible," soothed Mrs Gardiner, tugging at her husband's arm to direct him back toward their room. "Now, let's go back to bed and we shall sort all the rest of this out in the morning."

"Very well..." grumbled Mr Gardiner as he was led away by his wife. He lanced them both with one last glare before disappearing into his chambers. Mrs Gardiner, with a poignant look at Elizabeth, maintained her post just outside their door, chaperoning the last moments of their encounter.

"Come, Caroline," yawned Mr Bingley, flicking the end of his nightcap over his shoulder as he turned to trudge back to his own room. "I believe the show is over."

Miss Bingley said nothing, but she did not need to; the tight pucker to her lips, her dipping brow and narrowed eyes communicated well enough. She turned with a swish of her nightgown and stalked down the hall to her boudoir where she entered and slammed the door behind her. Her brother, still yawning, disappeared moments later, leaving Mr Darcy and Elizabeth under the careful watch of Mrs Gardiner alone.

With a small cough, Mr Darcy reached out and clasped Elizabeth's elbow gently, drawing her to the side and around the splintered remains of the broken vase. Mrs Gardiner could still see them from her sentry post a little ways up the hall, but they were provided with some semblance of privacy at such a distance. "Miss Bennet...dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, if your feelings are what they were last April, tell me now and I shall never speak of this night again; all may be concealed and we can part ways," he said, pausing to gulp. He hesitated another moment before saying, "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. _My_ affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever."

"I...I am ashamed to think of what I said then," replied Elizabeth, feeling those same overwhelming tears prickling at her eyes. "My feelings are so different. What I had realized, when we were still in the gallery, was that I loved you. I love you more than I can possibly express. If you will have me, I should be very honored to become your wife."

Mr Darcy looked as if he were tempted to seize her for another embrace, but he wisely looked to the loitering Mrs Gardiner and held himself in check. Instead, he took possession of one of her hands, brought it to his lips, and pressed kisses upon it. "I shall have you, dearest, and for the rest of my life I will treasure you."

After a few more sweet nothings, whispered between them, Mrs Gardiner coughed delicately and reminded the pair to say goodnight. With one last press his lips to her knuckles, Mr Darcy departed for the family wing, leaving Elizabeth in the company of her vigilant aunt.

Mrs Gardiner stepped forward to where Elizabeth was watching Mr Darcy's back retreat down the hallway until he was swallowed up by the night. She placed a hand upon her niece's arm and spoke gently, "Lizzy, I believe it is time to return to bed."

Elizabeth glanced at the open doorway to her chamber and, suddenly free of all fear, bid her aunt a pleasant rest and retreated to her own bed. She did not sleep for the rest of the night, of course, but not because she dreaded what went bump in the night. She lay awake in happy anticipation of seeing her beloved Mr Darcy again in the morning.

o0o

"_For heaven's sake, George_," scolded his wife as she hovered above the carpet where the shards of the broken urn rested, her long flowing gown wafting about her as if caught in a soft breeze, "_you will scare them both to death!_"

"_Me?_" scoffed George Darcy, silver and transparent in the bright moonlight. His voice echoed softly, as if from far away. "_Anne, I believe __**you**__ were the one who frightened our son's future bride so thoroughly that she fled her bedchamber in terror without her slippers. Imagine, showing yourself in the mirror like that...and the vase was no loss. Your sister has the most execrable taste._"

Lady Anne affixed her husband with a haughty glare, as if he were a simpleton, before saying, "_How else was I supposed to effect the planned rendezvous? She needed to leave her room and so I chased her out._" She glanced down at the pieces of damaged pottery and admitted, "_Though I admit that I shall not miss that vase, either. The only reason I never disposed of it in life was because it was a wedding gift. And Catherine would have been insufferable about it._"

"_You could have given her a dream vision, like I did for Fitzwilliam_," George persisted with exaggerated patience, though he smirked a little at Anne's admission about the gaudy urn. "_He woke with a sudden urge to visit the gallery – voila._"

"_That only works if the living first fall asleep, and you know it!_" Lady Anne countered, her face suffused with a bright silver glow. Had she been alive, the change in her complexion would have been visible as a flush of anger. "_Elizabeth never fell asleep, ergo I could not give her a dream vision. Do pay attention, George._"

"_So much for 'til death do we part'..._" George grumbled.

His wife's head whipped in his direction, sending the tendrils of her loose snow white hair flailing about her. It moved as if submerged in water, caught in a tide that none but the undead could feel. "_What was that?_"

"_Nothing, dear._"

Lady Anne persisted, "_I worked with the materials I was given. The mirror trick worked splendidly._"

"_Oh, yes, a perfect plan_," George scoffed. "_Though what we would have done had your little visit stopped Elizabeth's heart, I do not know. I suppose she could have continued here with us, watching Fitzwilliam slowly die of misery and grief. Then the Darcy line would have ended and we could all haunt Pemberley for eternity._"

"_Nonsense, she's a strong, healthy girl_," Lady Anne dismissed her husband's point with a regal wave of her hand. "_Were she not, she could never become the Mistress of Pemberley. Though I do think that silly Bible trick was a touch over the top. I thought she would expire on the spot when she read that verse._"

George laughed, his deep voice ebbing away into the darkness like rings on a pond. "_I disagree! I thought it was rather clever, myself._"

"_You __**would**__ think so_," replied Lady Anne. "Y_ou were always teasing poor Fitzwilliam so as a boy, pulling immature pranks. Between you and that awful Wickham boy, I am frankly amazed that he isn't some nervous little thing now. He was so sensitive._"

"_Exactly!_" cried George; a small watercolor of Pemberley's lake on the wall behind him rattled slightly as he slapped his hand upon it. "_He needed some toughening up. It worked, did it not?_"

Lady Anne shook her head and several wisps of her hair swirled around her as if floating upon the surface of reality. "_No, he simply learned to hide his feelings better. I am convinced that he would have received Elizabeth's acceptance the first time he asked for her hand had you not taught him to keep everything so bottled up inside. She did not even know he liked her!_"

"_Yes, well..._"

"_And I suppose –_ "

"_Enough, Anne, enough!_" George interrupted whatever chastisement was coming next with a huff. "_You have adequately made your point. What matters now is that they are engaged. We have succeeded._"

"_Oh, George..._"

"_Come now, my dear_," George rumbled, levitating closer to his long-dead bride. He raised her pale hand to his transparent lips and brushed a kiss upon the back of it. She flushed silver at the contact. "_We could not allow Fitzwilliam to continue dithering about. Elizabeth will be leaving tomorrow and he was no closer to proposing than he was when she arrived. A little careful prodding was necessary to force his hand._"

Lady Anne rolled her eyes, but a smile was spreading across her ethereal face. "_I suppose when you put it like that..._"

"_If we are very lucky, they shall be married within the month and they can begin begetting us some grandchildren. Perhaps the little ones shall even come visit us, like Georgiana used to. Before she got too old to believe in such things_," George pointed out. In life, he had been concerned about his youngest child when she had claimed to pay visits to her Mama in the gallery, but he had understood better when he had been at the threshold of death himself. Somehow, the veil is thinner for the very young and those on the precipice between this life and the next.

Lady Anne sighed and rested her head upon her husband's shoulder. The pair looked as if they were crafted out of moonlight. "_That would be very lovely, indeed._"

George kissed Lady Anne upon her temple, whispering, "_That's the spirit._"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I feel a little ridiculous posting three different versions of the same chapter, but...eh. I had to alter this story a bit before posting it on the DarcyandLizzy forum so that it followed their guidelines about premarital sex. It wasn't that difficult to change, so I went for it. Consider this the "Squeaky Clean" version.

Believe it or not, the urn thing was one of my original ideas for this fic anyway so I just dug it out of my memory and used it. Kinda like reheating leftovers from the freezer, I guess, lolz. Either way, it was kind of interesting to take up the challenge and gave me an opportunity to use a discarded scene. Win-win.

The Epilogue and BONUS CHAPTER will not make sense when read in conjunction with this version of Chapter Three, so don't expect it to. Both will relate to the events of the "Clean" and "MA 18+" editions.

**Next Update:** October 7, 2019 (Epilogue - unrelated to this version of Chapter 3)  
**Expected Completion Date:** October 31, 2019 (Bonus Chapter – unrelated to this version of Chapter 3)

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	6. Epilogue

**Title:** A Haunting at Pemberley  
**Rating: **T (PG-13) – for spooky good fun and hints of sexuality (non-explicit).  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting:** Modern AU (this chapter only)

**Summary:** Trapped at Pemberley during a storm, a nervous Elizabeth can't help but wonder – are the stories true? Is the great house haunted? When she races out into the hallway in a fright, she bumps into Mr Darcy...

Who ya gonna call?

* * *

_Epilogue_

**Present Day**

"...and Elizabeth Darcy married in July of 1812 and were famously considered a love match at the time..."

"_Yawn_," complained a teenage boy, head thrown back in a gesture of long suffering impatience. His eyes rolled around in a wide arc to complete his expression of absolute and complete boredom. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think I would rather be in Algebra II right now. I thought this senior trip was supposed to be more, ya know, _fun_."

"Right?" agreed his friend, his own eyes glazed with disinterest as he pretended to view the large portrait of some long-dead married couple that they were supposed to be learning about. "Who cares about all this stuff? It's not like I'll ever need to know this."

"You will for the pop quiz I'm giving you after the tour," a stern whisper informed them. The two boys straightened their spines and whipped around to find their teacher hovering just behind them. She looked less than pleased. "Now, stop being rude to Mr Reynolds and pay attention or you'll find yourself in detention for the rest of the term. I won't tell either of you again, am I understood?"

"Yes, Miss Bennet," the boys replied in unison, turning back to the smiling faces of Pemberley's former caretakers, rendered classically in glossy oils.

Elizabeth "Liz" Bennet, no relation – that she knew of – to the former Mistress of Pemberley, looked away from her charges and refocused her own attention on the long dead couple. According to Mr Reynolds, their tour guide and descendent of the family who had served the great estate for over two hundred years, the likeness of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife, Elizabeth, was absolutely remarkable for its day. She had no idea how he could possibly know that, but supposed the opinion must have been passed down through the generations of Reynoldses to the current day. If it were true, and Elizabeth Darcy, nee Bennet, appeared on canvas as she truly had been in life, then her current counterpart was truly creeped out by the resemblance to someone very close to her. Herself.

Elizabeth Darcy was not quite a classic English beauty, especially in her time, but she was absolutely stunning in the rendering before her regardless. Liz had to admit that, despite a more than passing similarity between their features, Elizabeth was the better, prettier version of herself with perfect ringlet curls, large bright green eyes and an impish smile upon her rosy lips. Liz, though her dark hair was curly and her eyes a distinct shade of hazel, could not claim the poise and grace of the lady in the painting. Perhaps that was why she was still single at nearly thirty.

And her husband, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, was incredibly handsome, even in reproduction. He stood behind his wife, who perched herself upon a brocaded sofa with a book daintily clutched in her lap, and rested his hand upon her shoulder. She had twined her fingers with his, her head tilted ever so slightly in her husband's direction, as he loomed in the background like a mighty oak. Mr Darcy was tall, broad shouldered and had a jaw so strong Liz did not doubt that it could crush rocks. He looked more aristocratic than his wife with sharp cheekbones and a straight, patrician nose, but his cryptic smile and the softness in his gray eyes made him seem more approachable than some of the ancestors featured in other paintings. A kind, strong, handsome man – the kind of partner every eligible (straight) woman wanted.

The portrait, according to Mr Reynolds, had been commissioned not long after the couple had been married, depicting them as they were when first in love. It had been somewhat of a scandalous match at the time, he being so wealthy and she being so _not_, but they had overcome all objections and lived happily ever after. Well, as happily as two real life individuals possibly could; no relationship could truly be so perfect as to be free of strife completely. Still, the smiling faces in the portrait looked joyful enough for people who lived their entire lives without indoor plumbing.

Liz grinned quietly at her little joke, but inside she knew that she was a touch jealous of the Darcys. To find the person you were meant to be with for a lifetime was not something so easily accomplished, even in an age where a woman was permitted to go out to bars and sign up for dating apps. How Elizabeth Darcy had managed it back before electronic communication was a mystery to Liz, but she supposed her natural beauty had played a role. Surely Mr Darcy had taken one look at her and decided to make her his bride.

Sigh.

Creeeeeeeeeeak.

Liz turned her head as the sudden noise cracked through the silence. For the first time, she realized that she was alone. Where had her class gone?

"Ugh, fantastic," she groaned, throwing her head back to make an irritable expression at the plaster above her. Coffered ceilings, nice.

Well, she'd better go search for them before she lost them entirely. She was supposed to be chaperoning, after all, and it kinda defeated the point if she wasn't actually _with_ the class. Jenny would likely forgive her tardiness instantly, but that bitch Carrie would be insufferable if she didn't catch up soon. Liz didn't need another "anonymous" complaint to the administration from that hoity-toity Stepford wife. She got enough of that crap State-side.

Liz had agreed to chaperone this senior trip full of spoiled rich kids almost entirely on a whim, having expected to leave some...unpleasantness behind her for a couple of weeks while she absorbed a bit of European culture. Unfortunately, the primary source of that same unpleasantness had followed her across the pond as another teenage babysitter, which she obviously hadn't realized at the time, so now she was stuck keeping a bunch of hormonal, entitled brats in line while also dealing with personal issues of a magnitude she had yet to find wherewithal to face. Her courage usually rose to the occasion, but what had happened was all kinds of awkward and she really had no idea what to say to him.

Having Carrie Vaughn-hyphen-Sterling, the "mom" (read: skinny, bitchy, bleach blonde, Starbucks-swilling, Botox-injected, quinoa-eating _step_mother) of Lisa Sterling, along for the ride made it all that much more excruciating for Liz. Watching that "casually" married woman put her hands where they didn't belong and attempt to seduce one of Liz's _particular_ colleagues back to her hotel room every night was nauseating. Apparently, Carrie believed "what happens in England, stays in England" though Liz doubted that her husband would see it that way. If that...that...collagen-puffed socialite wannabe made one more snide remark or groped Will's knee again, Liz was gonna...

Creeeeeeeeeeak.

As she was muttering expletives to herself and determining which way to go – presumably back the way they'd come, since the hallway seemed to end in a bunch of miscellaneous doors – the noise made itself known again. Liz, brow furrowed in puzzlement, looked down the corridor for the source. A door stood open at the end of the passage that, had she been asked, she would have sworn had been closed before.

Was Pemberley haunted? Not possible.

Could it be? No way.

But was it?

The door stood in silent judgment as she stared at it, almost daring her to go check it out like in a bad scary movie. Were she dumb, blonde and endowed with ridiculously gargantuan breasts, she might have done it, but she wasn't about to go snooping around in some historical landmark as if she owned the place. Who knew what was considered a priceless artifact?

The opening between the door and its frame seemed to glare at her in challenge. "You chicken?" it taunted. Pretty cheeky for an old piece of wood.

Then again, what harm could it do to take a little peek?

"Where's Scooby when I need him?" Liz muttered to herself, chuckling at possibly the worst joke she'd ever told; she wasn't sure whether she was glad or disappointed that no one had been around to hear it (if someone tells a bad joke and no one is around to hear it, was it actually funny?). If there had been, she and this hypothetical other person could have stupidly split up to investigate.

Liz bit her lower lip and looked around to confirm that she was, in fact, alone before creeping down the carpeted hall toward the intriguing mystery. She told herself that she would just take a peek inside the room, make sure that there were no ghosts or ax murderers inside and then scamper back downstairs to meet up with her class and the other chaperones. She wouldn't touch _anything_.

At the threshold, Liz bent forward so that she could see inside. It appeared to be a bedroom, modernly furnished aside from some old black wardrobe against the far wall, with nothing particularly notable about it. It was done in shades of rich aubergine and deep emerald, with lighter touches of white and gray sprinkled about to brighten the space, and looked as if it were simply a nondescript guest room. She sighed, disappointed.

"Liz?"

Liz jumped and spun around, startled and sure that she was about to be escorted from the premises by a surly guard who didn't find her curiosity amusing. She opened her mouth, prepared to offer up any number of excuses she hadn't quite thought up yet, but stopped when she realized that it wasn't security after all.

Much worse than that, it was Will Darcy.

Liz flushed and looked down at her sneaker-clad feet, unable to meet his probing blue eyes. Since their big blow up a few weeks ago, she had done her best to avoid him, – and the entire math department, for good measure – shamed by how she'd treated him. She owed him an apology, but how did one even begin that conversation? "Sorry I called you an asshole, Will, but that sleazy, student-fucking Greg told me some stuff about you that turned out to be lies. Oh, and that thing about ripping your heart into pieces and spitting on the remains? Sorry about that, too. Friends?"

Worst part was, without all that crap Greg Winthrop had told her, Liz found that she rather _liked_ Will. More than liked him. He had the tendency to be a pretentious jerk, but he was a good guy who cared about his students beneath his cool British exterior, the kind of teacher that, financially speaking, didn't even have to teach but wanted to. Oh, but one little comment about how un-sexy she was and Liz had condemned him as the worst sort of guy. How and when Will had changed his mind about her enough to ask her out, Liz didn't know, but he had and then she'd essentially told him how awful she thought he was and encouraged him to go fuck himself. Nice one, Liz.

The silence between the two educators was growing long and awkward and Liz knew that she had to say something to him. Honestly, she should take her opportunity to talk to him privately, away from campus and that nosy Bill Collins, – who would surely report the entire affair to the headmistress – and apologize. It wasn't nearly enough for what she'd said to him, but he deserved at least the acknowledgment that he was right and she was wrong in the whole situation. Also, maybe this little excursion to England would be less humiliating for the both of them once they'd addressed the big, awkward, metaphorical elephant in the room.

Liz took a deep breath and began, "Will, I – "

"I'm sorry – "

They both stopped talking once they realized that they were doing so at the same time. Liz felt her cheeks flush and could have sworn that Will's did the same.

"Sorry, you – "

"Go ahead – "

After their second failed attempt at communication, Will held his hand up to halt any other words Liz might have been forming. He coughed a little into his fist and said, in that smooth English accent that secretly moistened her panties from time to time, "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but I just wanted to apologize for...for everything. For all the stupid things I've ever said to you, for pushing my feelings on you like that, for not going straight to the administration with the rumors I'd heard about Winthrop. I...I don't want you to feel uncomfortable at school anymore, so please don't worry that I'll ever ask you out again or...or whatever. If you want, I can find another position at a different school next year."

Liz's heart seized at the notion. "No! Don't do that. You love it at Rosings."

"But so do you. And it's not as if I need the money..."

Liz shook her head, her loose curly hair swirling about her like a dark storm cloud. "Don't quit, please. Not because of me. I haven't been handling this well, I admit it, but I want you to know that it wasn't all your fault. I believed the crap that Greg was spouting – "

"You couldn't have known – "

It was Liz's turn to hold her hand up to Will, palm up, a silent entreaty to let her speak. Her American dialect, by comparison, was not nearly so intriguing, but it portrayed brutal honesty. "I know I couldn't, but I also _shouldn't _have believed all that stuff he told me without checking it out. I let some stupid comment," Will's handsome face cringed, "cloud my judgment about you and that was stupid. Honestly, from some of the stuff he'd told me, I should have suspected that he was closer to the situation than he said. That poor girl..."

They were both silent for a moment as they considered the ongoing plight of young GD, a student at Will and Greg's former school who had been victimized by the latter, convinced that she was in love with her teacher. It had been consensual, but what naïve fifteen-year-old girl could withstand the charms of a practiced predator?

"If I had told Catherine – "

Liz cut him off by stepping forward and grabbing his hand, which he clearly had not expected even in his wildest fantasies, such was the look of surprise on his face. She tugged him into the room she had been scouting for Scooby Doo-type villains so that they might finish out their latest disagreement in relative privacy and with little fear of being discovered by a random tourist or staff member. She left the door open for easy exit. "Look, all you had at the time were unsubstantiated rumors and we both know that the high and mighty Dr Catherine Berger wouldn't have been convinced by anything short of absolute proof. You did everything you could and saved another young girl from herself before it was too late."

"But Lydia – "

"Is safe and very, very lucky, thanks to your intervention," she interrupted him, a soft smile arching across her lips. "I doubt anyone would have found her in time if it weren't for you."

Will sighed and nodded, his thumb rubbing absentminded circles across the back of the hand Liz still held in her possession. "But that's not the only thing I'm sorry for. The way I spoke to you – "

"No, it's me that needs to apologize to _you_ for that one," Liz said, injecting a good measure of her firm "teacher tone" into her words. "Not only did I throw that Greg Winthrop thing in your face – and look how _that_ turned out – I was unfair. You're not an asshole, you're...you're a good guy."

Their breaths mingled between them, soft yet quick. Liz was growing warm as the heat between them built in the wake of her quiet confession. "You think so?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I do," she replied, her gaze rising to meet his for the first time. The shocking blue of his eyes had once made her feel cold, but now all she could sense was a hot, prickly sensation along her skin.

For a moment, Liz wasn't quite sure where this interlude was going. She suspected, from the way he was tipping forward and how their eyes were locked in some kind of tractor beam of lust, that Will wanted to kiss her. However, he pulled back, releasing her hand as well, and she realized how ridiculous that notion had been; she had wasted her chance with him.

"We should go find the class," he said, voice a touch strangled. "I told Charlotte and Jenny that I would find you and bring you back before lunch. They should all be gathering outside on the lawn soon."

Liz nodded, a little afraid to use her own voice for fear that it would fail her.

Shaking away the feelings of awkward shyness which had plagued her too much lately, Liz took a stab at lightening the mood between them. "And Carrie?" she asked, a teasing lift to her eyebrow and a saucy quirk to her lips. It was weak, but so was much of her so-called humor.

Will grimaced, his aristocratic nose wrinkling with distaste. "I didn't bother to tell Mrs Vaughn-Sterling where I was going. In fact, I waited until she was distracted by her mobile before slipping away."

Liz laughed, deeply and sincerely. She could absolutely picture Will carefully sneaking away from his almost-stalker. The way that woman behaved... "So you won't be joining her in her hotel room tonight?"

"Or ever," agreed Will with a dramatic shudder. He smiled at her when she laughed again and everything felt a little better between them. Maybe they could be friends...or something in spite of all the crap that went before.

"Ah, speaking of tonight...," Will looked down at his feet, which were shuffling lightly against the plush emerald carpet beneath them. "I used to live in this area before I emigrated..."

"Right, your family owns this place," Liz broke in, waving her hands around like a game show hostess announcing prizes.

Will chuckled a little, a small smile lifting on his lips. "Distant relatives," he corrected. "Anyway, I was wondering...there's this little pub in the village...would you, perhaps, like to get a drink? With me?"

Dear _God_, he was even hotter when he was shy. It really wasn't fair to the rest of the male population of the Earth for one guy to be so irresistible.

With a bashfulness that wasn't usually part of her nature, Liz lowered her head and blushed. She flicked her eyes upward to look at him through her lashes as she all but whispered, "I would like that."

Will grinned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks. "So would I. I'll text you when I've gotten the boys locked down for the night, then?"

Liz agreed that this was a good plan and made sure that Will had her phone number. Of course, he already did – no real surprise there since, supposedly, he was in love with her and all – thanks to the school directory.

With their reconciliation accomplished and their plans for a date (_was_ it a date? Was he just being nice? Liz decided to obsess over _that_ later), it really was time to go find the class and other chaperones. "Come on," Liz said, swiveling toward the open doorway. She cast an inviting smile and a wink over her shoulder at Will, who put his own feet into motion to follow her. "If we hurry, we won't mess up the itener – "

SLAM!

Though the previous tension had largely abated, both parties jumped, quite literally, a few inches off the floor as the door to the room closed itself with an unreasonable amount of force. Liz's heart, already aflutter from Will's shy invitation for a could-be-probably-possibly-was-date, thumped erratically in her chest as she said, "What the hell?"

Will withdrew his hands from his pockets and marched to the door, grasping the knob to twist it back and forth. It didn't have much effect, however, so he tugged and jerked until he was panting with exertion. Their portal was closed and would remain so, it seemed.

"Is it locked?" Liz asked, coming over to investigate herself (as if her expertise as a high school literature teacher would be much help).

Will turned the doorknob back and forth to demonstrate that it was not. "No, I believe it's just stuck. Maybe the wind blew it closed?"

In tandem, the pair swiveled their heads toward the far wall where there was a small bank of windows. Two of them were open, so perhaps wind was a theory worth considering. "I guess so. The group should be out on the lawn soon, I guess we could just call down to someone to come let us out."

Creeeeeeeeeeeak – CRASH!

Suspiciously in sync with one another, both open windows slammed closed. Almost as if they had plotted the maneuver in advance.

Liz and Will looked at one another, each baffled. What to do now?

Will brushed past her to stride over to the windows and started jerking on their latches like he had the doorknob previously but, as seemed to be the theme of the moment, they refused to give way and remained stubbornly closed against them. What the H-E-double-hockey-sticks?

"Stuck," he confirmed verbally, stepping back and glaring at the old timey glazed glass (which cost in excess of eight _hundred_ pounds, according to Mr Reynolds, apparently quite a large sum two hundred-something years ago). She wondered if he was contemplating breaking it to enable their escape, weighing the cost-versus-benefit of destroying a likely priceless piece of history to achieve a short term goal.

With a sigh weighted with exasperation, Liz figured he'd made his decision to respect history and turned back to her. "Do you have your mobile?"

"Yeah, hang on," Liz replied, pulling the smart device out of her back pocket. She swiped to unlock it and pulled up her text messaging app with the intent of sending a message to Jenny – fellow lit teacher and closest friend on the faculty – to come bail them out, but it was taking forever to load. She glanced up at the top portion of her screen and scowled. "No bars," she complained aloud.

Will had already pulled out his own phone and appeared to be experiencing the same problem. "Same here. I guess Pemberley isn't equipped with wi-fi."

"You mean the Darcys didn't have toilets _or_ hot spot two hundred-something years ago? How did they live?" quipped Liz, though it was tainted with impatience. She loaded and reloaded her text app, attempted to pull up her calling one and finally huffed irritably as she dropped her hands down to her sides. "It won't work."

"I suppose we'll just have to wait for someone to come looking for us," Will said, stuffing his phone back into his trouser pocket. "Jenny and Carla know I went to find you, so they'll likely send out a search party when I don't arrive with you soon. We're due to leave in another two hours and they'll have to come for us by then."

"And I'm sure they won't misinterpret finding us alone and trapped in a locked bedroom together for all that time," Liz replied, her voice infused with sarcasm. At the drop of Will's head and the return of his nervous shuffling, she sighed and apologized, "I'm sorry. I'm annoyed, but not at you."

"I know," he said, but still seemed as if he were attempting to hide something akin to disappointment from her. She hadn't meant it _that_ way; Liz wasn't averse to being in his company, even alone, she just didn't want bored housewives like Carrie Vaughn-Sterling judging her for supposedly getting some nookie on a school trip. She would get reported for sure and it could threaten _both_ of their jobs (though probably just hers, frankly, since Will was the headmistress' reluctant pet).

Liz moved away from the door to join him over by the bank of windows and rested her hand upon his elbow. The blue pinstriped oxford shirt he was wearing was crisp as if freshly starched, and she didn't doubt that it was; he was always painstakingly cultivated in his appearance. "Hey, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she confessed, stroking her palm up and down his bicep – wow, he clearly worked out. "It's just not good to let gossip make headway at Rosings Academy for Gifted Brats – I mean Students," she smirked at him as he guffawed. "And you know that Carrie won't hesitate to go straight to 'Lady' Catherine when she finds out we're together."

Will's face pivoted toward her, his eyes softened to a clear sky blue. "We're 'together'?"

Liz nibbled at her lip nervously before responding, "Aren't we?"

This time, Will didn't allow his hesitation to prevent him from reaching down and stealing a kiss from her. Liz breathed a sigh of relief through her nostrils as their lips made contact – finally, after all the anticipation that had been building between them – and raised her hands to bury themselves in the dark waves of his hair. She used this grip to tilt his head to one side while hers fell to the other, deepening their embrace into something more..._fevered_. Then he slipped his tongue in her mouth and...

Oh, sweet baby Jesus. As the tip of Will's tongue tickled the roof of her mouth, a zip of electricity vibrated down her spine and then spread to what seemed like each and every one of her nerves from there. She felt his arms wrap themselves around her hips, noted the feel of his palms against her denim-covered backside, the fingers of one hand rising to tickle at the skin of her lower back beneath her blouse and then she quivered as a rush of lust overwhelmed her common sense.

Without breaking their mouths apart, Liz released the hair she had captured and dropped her hands to grab fistfuls of his shirt instead. She nibbled at his lips as she dragged him backwards toward the bed conveniently located a few feet behind them...

o0o

SLAM!

"_I thought you were not going to meddle, my love_," accused the long-deceased Fitzwilliam Darcy, an indulgently soft smile upon his translucent face.

"_I said no such thing_," countered his wife, who had yet to part from him upon her death. She looked much as she had when he'd first known her as Miss Elizabeth Bennet, yet the supernatural silvery glow showed her to be not quite of this world any longer. "_All I said was that I would not meddle if I did not have to. The moment was about to be spoiled._"

Fitzwilliam chuckled at his love and floated closer to her, his toes lightly skimming the carpet upon his approach. He reached out and cupped her face, bringing his beloved wife to him for a kiss. He released her only enough to murmur, his voice echoing as if from the depths of a cavern, "_Admit it. You could not help yourself._"

Elizabeth's smile curved against her husband's as she admitted, "_I confess I could not. They reminded me so much of ourselves and I could not allow their misunderstandings to get in the way of the happiness we found with one another._"

"_We found our way, if you recall_," the ghostly form of Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth's laughter reverberated about the room like ripples dancing across the lake outside, strong at first and weaker as the echo died away. "_Your parents were of some assistance in that, if you recall. I shall never forget when I finally followed you to the grave only to be greeted by my beloved husband and in-laws with such a story!_"

"_I would like to think that we would have come together in any case_," argued Fitzwilliam, ignoring the rattling and shaking of the door behind them. He had, for more than two centuries, only eyes for his wife and the little complaints of mortals would not change that.

"_Perhaps we would_," she agreed, her smile becoming impish, "t_hough I doubt we would have come to an understanding so soon as we did. But tell me_," she shifted the subject, nodding to the door beyond which they had confined their prisoners, "_is he one of our descendents? He has your nose._"

Fitzwilliam nodded. "_Yes, I believe he comes from Alex's line, though I cannot be sure. Penelope had so many children that I have difficulty keeping track. I only suspect he is the product of our son because he retains the Darcy name._"

"_That would make the most sense, yes_," agreed his wife. "_Though he has the look of our sweet girl about his eyes. Not the color, but the shape and expression of them._"

"_Those would be __**your**__ eyes, my love_," Fitzwilliam said, nuzzling at her silvery cheek. "_He could have inherited them from either of our children._"

"_Mmm...very true._" Elizabeth purred as her husband began venturing down the length of her neck, burying his face within the wispy curls that floated about them as if caught in a flowing stream. From behind his back, she flicked a single finger in the direction of the sealed off room and smirked when the following CRASH thundered around the otherwise quiet space. "_What about the girl? 'Elizabeth Bennet' is a common enough name, I suppose, but you must admit that there is something of a resemblance in her._"

"_Oh, yes, a very pretty girl_," Fitzwilliam concurred, leaning back to smile directly at his wife. His outline sparkled in the bright sunlight which invaded the corridor through the windows behind him. "_Almost as lovely as the original. I cannot say from where she descends, of course, but it would not surprise me if she were a relation on your side. Some of the Bennets emigrated after the Great War, as I recall._"

"_A reasonable conjecture_," Elizabeth allowed, "_though I suppose there is no way to know for certain._"

"_No, unfortunately not._"

"_Would it not be marvelous if it were true, my love?_" she conjectured, her eyes glowing lightly green in the sunlit hall. "_That our descendents managed to find one another across the centuries, despite being separated by an ocean? It would necessarily be the workings of Fate, if such were the case._"

Fitzwilliam trailed a single finger down the slope of Elizabeth's silvery cheek, his eyes softened in indulgence as he gazed upon her. "_As Fate brought us together – _"

"_Not your parents?_"

"_Them, as well_," Fitzwilliam conceded with a raspy chuckle. "_As I was saying, as Fate brought us together, I do not suppose it unlikely to be at work for others. Perhaps some are simply meant to be joined._"

"_And never parted_," Elizabeth finished for him, brushing a light kiss against the tip of his chin.

Fitzwilliam bowed his head slightly so that their lips were in range of one another's and joined them together. "_And never parted_," he agreed.

There were no more sounds of struggle coming through the heavy oak door, though the shrill rhythmic squeak of bed springs hinted that their captives were, perhaps, too occupied to continue with their complaining. Other sounds that managed to leak out into the corridor indicated likewise.

Elizabeth smiled at the closed portal before turning back to her husband, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "_I believe it is time we gave our namesakes a bit of privacy, dearest. And, now that the schoolchildren have gone, I believe I would prefer to haunt our old chambers for a spell._"

Fitzwilliam hovered away to offer his wife an arm. She accepted it as he replied, "_That sounds delightful, Mrs Darcy. Shall we?_"

"_We shall._"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'll never forget the first time I was introduced to _Pride and Prejudice_ by the 1995 BBC miniseries featuring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. I was watching it with my mother and we had just gotten to the bit where Elizabeth receives the news of Lydia's elopement and I can recall her saying, in reference to Wickham, "he likes them young." This disturbing idea has stuck with me throughout the years, leading to the above scenario in which a modern Wickham seduces a student Lydia. Let's face it, the guy is a disgusting predator; he's very nearly twice his victims' ages and uses manipulation to get what he wants. Creepy.

Anyway, not really a traditional epilogue, but I like it. Modern AU is one of my favorite sub genres within JAFF and so it felt right to tinker with it. Also, I wanted to bring ODC back as ghosts (full circle and all that) and this seemed like the least tragic way to do it. Elizabeth and Darcy as teachers is one of my many story ideas (I'm up to #45 as of this writing) and I simply adapted it for the purpose of this epilogue. If I ever get around to fleshing it out into a real story, it will have no relation to this work (at least...I don't _think_ it will). Be sure to tell me if you're interested in seeing more. If you still prefer a more detailed epilogue for Regency Darcy and Elizabeth, I can potentially be persuaded to write a sequel (though probably not until next Halloween) to fulfill that requirement. Let me know in your reviews.

Meanwhile, there's a new BONUS CHAPTER featuring the misadventures of one Miss Caroline Bingley that overlaps with the events of Chapter Three (though not the "Squeaky Clean" version). Expect to see it on Halloween...scroll down past my signature to read a short preview.

Anyway, that's officially the end. I'll be posting the first chapter of my Christmas fic "Welcome Home" in early December, so keep an eye out. I also have recently uploaded a new story to my profile, "Under the Influence," if you can't wait until then. Check it out.

**Next Update:** October 31, 2019 (BONUS CHAPTER)  
**Coming Soon:** "Welcome Home," expected post date December 8th

– _MrsMarySmythe_

* * *

**PREVEIW:** A Haunting in the Mistress' Chambers

In which Miss Caroline Bingley's skepticism about ghosts is tested...

It was time. Caroline left her sputtering candle upon the dressing table as she turned to look for the door that would lead to the master's chambers. Ah! There, against the far wall; her access point. With her feral grin firmly in place, Miss Bingley approached the entry to her destiny with as much confidence as she felt she deserved – which was to say quite a bit.

The brass knob was cold, practically frigid, in her hand as she attempted to turn it – but it would not oblige her. Figuring it must be stuck after many years of disuse, Caroline rattled the metal orb and twisted sharply back and forth, but to no avail; the door would not open. Thinking that she might, perhaps, be missing a key, Miss Bingley searched for a hole to insert one, but there was none; it could not possibly be locked against her. In mounting frustration, she hissed and cursed at the contraption as she shook it as violently as she was able, but no amount of her pitiful force could dislodge the door from its frame.

With some derision, Caroline postulated to herself that Eliza Bennet, hoyden that she was, might have been able to wrench the thing from its hinges, but it was hopelessly impossible for a delicate lady such as herself. Should she knock? Mr Darcy would answer the summons and she could encourage him to invite her in, though it was hardly a sure thing. Still, she was wearing a most enticing nightgown...

She would do it. She had come too far to give up the chase now and, moreover, she had great confidence in her looks. Surely Mr Darcy would be unable to resist the lure of so much tantalizing flesh encased in lace and silk.

Caroline arranged her expression into one that would be inviting to a man and raised her fist to rap upon the wood. Before her knuckles could make contact, however, she was distracted by a trickle of cold running down her spine and an inarticulate whisper from somewhere behind her.

"_...out..._"

Miss Bingley stiffened; had she somehow been discovered? If so, she could always claim that Mr Darcy had invited her – yes, that would do – and they could still become engaged. With a fixed smile upon her face, she turned to deliver her proclamation –

but no one was there. How strange.

**...To Be Continued on Halloween 2019. Muhahahahaha!**


	7. BONUS: Haunting in the Mistress Chambers

**Title:** A Haunting in the Mistress' Chambers  
**Rating: **T (PG-13) – this one might be a touch scarier because the ghosts are _pissed_. Miss Bingley has that effect on many...  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting:** Regency

**Summary:** BONUS STORY! In which Miss Caroline Bingley's skepticism about ghosts is tested...

I could not resist.

* * *

_BONUS STORY_

Miss Caroline Bingley woke with a start as the clock chimed one, having unintentionally drifted off in the chair at her vanity. She blinked many times in succession as the sticky cobwebs of sleep dissipated from her mind.

The candle on her dressing table flickered fitfully as the flame drew nearer to the puddle of wax surrounding its wick, casting jagged shadows against the wall. How long had she been asleep? She recalled dismissing her maid once the key had been delivered, but nothing after that. Apparently her plan to remain awake by sitting up in a chair rather than tucking herself into bed had been a failure.

'_Well, no matter_,' Miss Bingley declared silently to herself as she stood up and stretched the stiffness out of her lower back. '_There is still plenty of time...'_

Caroline turned to check her reflection in the mirror and assessed any damage caused by her little nap. Aside from a tiny drop of drool at the corner of her lips, easily wiped away with her thumb, there was nothing amiss with her appearance. She stroked the silk nightdress over her hips, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the expensive fabric, and turned around to check the back. It hung a touch loose on her thin frame and she did not fill it out quite so well as her sister did at the top, but the peach color complimented her skin tone and it was revealing enough for its purpose. Nabbing it from Louisa's dressing room had been a stroke of genius; Caroline was glad she had instructed her maid to do it.

With one quick tightening tug to the ribbon that bound her dark hair into its braid, Caroline was satisfied that Mr Darcy would be unable to resist the image she was ready to present to him. That Eliza Bennet – scheming country chit! – would not steal such a prize from Miss Caroline Bingley! Whatever arts and allurements she had been using upon him Caroline would admit a grudging respect for, but that bumpkin would never become Mistress of Pemberley. Not after tonight.

Caroline swept the matching robe from the back of her chair and slipped her arms into its sleeves. Once she had belted it securely at the waist – no need for any wandering servants to catch an improper peek at their future mistress – she picked up her guttering candle and headed for the door, her slippers treading softly upon the carpet.

"Oh!" Miss Bingley exclaimed just as her hand rested upon the cool brass knob that would permit her exit. She swirled around and padded back to the dressing table at a quicker pace, snatching a heavy metal key from the gleaming surface. She deposited it into the pocket of her robe and patted it for reassurance. Had she forgotten this most precious item, the plan would have been ruined.

That crisis averted, Caroline pulled open her door – creeeeeeak – and peeked out into the hallway, glittering eyes darting back and forth in search of witnesses. She could hear Mr Hurst snoring in the chamber directly across the hall from hers, absolutely no sound coming from her brother's next to that one, and saw no random servants going about their business (of course, why should they be in the guest wing in the middle of the night?). She could only hear the wind whistling against the windowpane behind her; all else was draped in the silence of night.

Secure in the knowledge that she was not being observed, Miss Bingley emerged from her room and began her journey down the corridor, confident in her direction. She might be a guest in this house – for now – but she was perfectly aware of the location of her goal.

Her future chambers.

Caroline smiled to herself, predatory like a spider stalking a fly, as she proceeded on her way. As she had suspected, there was no one about at this time of night; perfect for her plans. All she need do now was –

Caroline halted in the middle of the hall, her candle sputtering as a drip of wax fell to the floor at her feet. A door up ahead, the one assigned to that trollop Eliza Bennet, was standing open.

She crept closer, carefully quiet, and listened for any sound that might indicate her nemesis was awake. Should that chit raise the alarm, Caroline would have an awkward time explaining why she was out of bed at such an hour. No one would believe that she was on the way down to the library to retrieve a book and it was even less likely that she intended to traipse down to the kitchen for a morsel of food, so her motives would be rather transparent. Why else would a lady with a reluctant beau leave her chambers but to pay him a clandestine visit? She supposed she could always affect that they had planned a rendezvous and engage his honor that way, but Caroline suspected that Mr Darcy would not be trapped so easily. No, she would have to convince him, as plotted. Failing that, she would tangle him so tightly within the gossamer threads of her web that he could never escape.

There was nothing to hear from Eliza Bennet's bedroom as Caroline tiptoed past – one might have even suspected that the chamber was empty – but she didn't relax in relief until she had reached the corner and turned down the corridor which would eventually lead her to the family wing. Once past that obstacle, she could breathe more freely.

The key weighed heavily in Caroline's pocket and bumped against her upper thigh with each step she took, reminding her of her purpose. It was all so simple, really; let herself into the mistress' private chambers, enter Mr Darcy's bedroom via the door which attached the two and then climb into bed with him. He would wake up, take her virginity and the deal would be sealed! She could officially begin ordering her trousseau in the morning.

Caroline had not intended for it to go this far, she had been ready to rely strictly upon her arsenal of accomplishments and subtle charms to garner her that coveted proposal from Mr Darcy, but the sudden appearance of Eliza Bennet had changed everything. Instead of a summer of delicately flirting with her prey and recommending herself to him with her grace, poise and talents, he was unaccountably drawn to that muddy little mouse from Hertfordshire and all of Miss Bingley's carefully drawn plans were in utter ruin. What did that...that..._thing_ have that Caroline Bingley did not? It was absurd to think that someone such as Eliza Bennet would ever be deemed even slightly qualified as such an illustrious man's wife, much less that he would be tempted to actually take her as such, yet he looked closer to making her an offer every day.

Well, he would not – could not – after finding himself bound to Caroline instead. He would, perhaps, be a bit testy over her methods, but one day (likely sooner rather than later) Mr Darcy would thank his bride for saving him from making a wretched, wretched mistake. After all, what was infatuation compared to maintaining his good name?

Miss Bingley halted in front of the door she had been searching for and a smirk bloomed upon her face. Inside this room was her destiny.

With her free hand, Caroline dipped into the pocket of her robe and retrieved the key that was so graciously purloined by her maid from the housekeeper's room below stairs. She had hoped that the girl – Louts or Lutz or whatever her name was – would have gotten her hands upon the key to the master's chambers, but that, apparently, was kept in the sole possession of Mr Darcy's valet. Having been unable to seduce it from the gentleman's gentleman, she had settled for the alternative. Caroline would have been grateful (possibly) had the maid gotten her what she'd specifically asked for, but she supposed that this one would do. The door betwixt the mistress' and master's rooms was likely to be unlocked and she could gain entrance via that route.

The key turned in the lock, the mechanisms within squealing in rusty disuse, and Caroline triumphantly gained entrance to the boudoir within. She pulled the door open and slipped between it and the frame, closing the light inside with her.

Caroline sneezed as her footsteps raised dust from the carpet. She would put the staff straight to cleaning thoroughly in the morning, once she had rights to direct them. All the furniture, large and overbearing in the darkness, was draped in white covers to protect it from the grime accumulated over so many years of neglect. She chuckled at the notion that it looked as if she were surrounded by spirits; "Ghosts, indeed! Superstitious nonsense..."

Coming deeper into the room, Caroline looked for a place to deposit her dripping candle, but found nothing that was not already swathed in a sheet. Not that the furniture within the room would be worth salvaging – it would all have to be replaced, quite frankly, for none of it was likely to be in the current style – but it would hardly do to set fire to her chambers. Not only might she damage the structure, but it would inevitably distract Mr Darcy from her seduction.

With this thought in mind, Caroline walked to the covered item that looked most like a dressing table and pulled the cloth from it with a swift whoosh. She coughed as dust rose up in a cloud around her, creating a miasma of dirty fog, and closed her eyes against the particles which attempted to invade them. Disgraceful! Did no one _ever_ clean this room?

Miss Bingley set the candle down upon the dull surface of the vanity, still hacking in a most unladylike manner in an attempt to dislodge the grime from her throat, and braced herself upon the edge of the blonde wood table. She struggled to catch her breath; it would not be appealing to Mr Darcy to climb into his bed wheezing.

Once her struggles had abated, Caroline stood erect and considered her reflection in the mirror before her. It was in bad need of a polish and the edges were crusting over, but she was able to determine that her appearance was not too disgraceful after her little fit. She checked for dirt upon her robe, tucked a few loose hairs back into place and dabbed at her dripping nose with a handkerchief before declaring herself satisfied enough.

Now, to business.

Caroline loosened the knot of her dressing gown and released the cord from around her waist, allowing the garment to fall open. She then permitted the cool silk to slide from her shoulders and drop to the floor, uncaring that the borrowed item would very likely become sullied with filth, as she surveyed the lacy peach negligee underneath. It was unspoiled by any of her adventures of the night and would surely tantalize her prey.

It was time. Caroline left her sputtering candle upon the dressing table as she turned to look for the door that would lead to the master's chambers. Ah! There, against the far wall; her access point. With her feral grin firmly in place, Miss Bingley approached the entry to her destiny with as much confidence as she felt she deserved – which was to say quite a bit.

The brass knob was cold, practically frigid, in her hand as she attempted to turn it – but it would not oblige her. Figuring it must be stuck after many years of disuse, Caroline rattled the metal orb and twisted sharply back and forth, but to no avail; the door would not open. Thinking that she might, perhaps, be missing a key, Miss Bingley searched for a hole to insert one, but there was none; it could not possibly be locked against her. In mounting frustration, she hissed and cursed at the contraption as she shook it as violently as she was able, but no amount of her pitiful force could dislodge the door from its frame.

With some derision, Caroline postulated to herself that Eliza Bennet, hoyden that she was, might have been able to wrench the thing from its hinges, but it was hopelessly impossible for a delicate lady such as herself. Should she knock? Mr Darcy would answer the summons and she could encourage him to invite her in, though it was hardly a sure thing. Still, she was wearing a most enticing nightgown...

She would do it. She had come too far to give up the chase now and, moreover, she had great confidence in her looks. Surely Mr Darcy would be unable to resist the lure of so much tantalizing flesh encased in lace and silk.

Caroline arranged her expression into one that would be inviting to a man and raised her fist to rap upon the wood. Before her knuckles could make contact, however, she was distracted by a trickle of cold running down her spine and an inarticulate whisper from somewhere behind her.

"_...out..._"

Miss Bingley stiffened; had she somehow been discovered? If so, she could always claim that Mr Darcy had invited her – yes, that would do – and they could still become engaged. With a fixed smile upon her face, she turned to deliver her proclamation –

– but no one was there. How strange.

In the dim light cast by her dying candle, the room surrounding her was draped as much in shadow as it was in white sheets. She could not see to all the corners, the chamber being as vast as was suitable for the Mistress of Pemberley, so she could not certainly say that she was alone, but Caroline saw no sign of anyone besides her own reflection in the vanity mirror. Perhaps those silly ghost stories from earlier in the day had tickled her imagination just enough to create a few spooks in the dark.

Caroline shrugged and turned back to the door, raising her fist again to knock.

"_Get...out..._"

Miss Bingley whipped around again, this time calling out into the darkness, "Who's there? Show yourself."

No one stepped forward to admit their presence. Caroline swiveled her head back and forth, from wall to window, but she could see no one else in the room. Though not at all inclined toward superstitious belief, an unaccountable trill of fear tickled the back of her mind.

"I...I insist that you show yourself," Caroline demanded again, her eyes scanning the bedchamber for any movement aside from her own. Still, there was no one to be seen.

She stepped away from the door that adjoined to the master's chambers and made a quick journey to the vanity to reclaim her candle, feeling more secure in the glow it exuded. She grasped it by its candelabra and picked it up, shining her light in every direction to aid in her search. The hot wax dripped down the back of her hand, but she barely noticed the sting.

Nothing.

Caroline relaxed a touch as the light revealed her own silliness. The storm had ended hours ago, but perhaps the wind outside was still a bit wild. Wild enough to create whispers in the dark.

She set the candle back down upon the dressing table and forced herself to take a calming breath to ease the stuttering of her heart. There was no such thing as ghosts, she was alone in the room, superstitious nonsense...

"_Get out...!_"

Miss Bingley jumped and swirled around in a full circle; that had most certainly _not_ been the wind! It sounded like nothing short of a human voice, its owner presumably lurking in the shadows where she could not see the source. "Who's there?" she called out, louder and more tremulously than before, "Come out and show yourself! As the future mistress of this house, you shall obey me or forfeit your position immediately!"

CRASH! BAM! SMASH!

Caroline screeched at the top of her voice as all the items in the room surrounding her – furniture, sheets, forgotten nicknacks – all lunged themselves in her direction and crashed to the floor around her. She had to scurry of the way of a falling wardrobe lest she be trapped beneath it and jumped over the splintered remains of a nightstand as she rushed to escape from the avalanche of possessions. A porcelain figurine cast itself at her head in a suicidal mission to injure her and Caroline ducked just in time to avoid receiving a bloody nose.

A sheet rose up in a fog of dust and attempted to cast itself upon her like a net, sending Miss Bingley stumbling to the floor to get away. Her luck had run out, however, and the fabric wrapped itself around her ankle, pulling her across the floor with a sharp jerk. She screamed again as her nightgown rose up her legs in a most undignified way and she skidded across the hardwood with it bunched up around her waist, her foot still caught in the sheet's trap. The door to the hallway sprung open of its own accord, ready to swallow her up if the muslin got its way.

Caroline managed to grab hold of one of the four posts on the bed and held on tightly as the bedding tugged and jerked to dislodge her. She managed to struggle hard enough to kick her leg free of the fabric and scrambled up into a crouched position by the heavy piece of furniture, panting and terrified. Was she in the midst of a nightmare?

Caroline glanced toward the door which led to Mr Darcy's room, wondering why he had not come to her rescue. Surely the racket caused by the furnishings destroying themselves and her own cries for help could be heard all the way to the guest wing! He was far less gallant than his reputation suggested.

Squeak...shuffle..._grooooan_.

Well, no time to dwell on that _now_. The items in the room appeared to be positioning themselves for another assault and Caroline was not about to stay put and take their abuse. She dragged herself upward, digging her nails into the wood of the bedpost, and found her footing as the furnishings surrounded her.

What should she do? Caroline's eyes darted toward the door that led out into the hall, but she was indecisive; should she abandon her grand plans to become mistress of this horrible place and seek safety with her relations in the guest wing? Or should she make another attempt to rouse Mr Darcy in her defense and use this circumstance to her advantage? She could always insist that they live in London year round, or possibly take up residence at one of their many satellite estates. Mr Darcy was the type of man who had options available to himself and his family.

As if sensing her thoughts, the ghost made its opinion on the subject known to Miss Bingley in a way that could not be misunderstood. The lady turned as the glass of the vanity mirror shattered, splintering into a spiderweb pattern from the center of the pane, and reflected her image back to her in many pieces. From between the shards seeped a dark, viscous substance that was almost certainly blood. It pooled upon the tabletop, surrounding her candlestick in a sea of glimmering red, and dripped onto the carpet in rivulets.

Caroline released the bedpost and stumbled backwards until she collided with something heavy and wooden – the door leading to the master's chambers – and she froze there, too petrified to make a dart for the open door.

"This cannot be real, this cannot be real..." Miss Bingley muttered this mantra and squeezed her eyes shut tight, blocking the horror from her vision. "This cannot be real!"

A chill began to prickle against her skin, rising up from the soles of her feet to her ankles, calves and knees. It was as if a fog bank were rising from the carpet around her and surrounding her with a damp cold. Caroline could feel her shuddering breaths escape her and caress her cheeks in a warm cloud.

"_Get...out...!_"

Caroline's lids snapped open as the ghastly voice whispered directly into her ear. Immediately before her was a pair of large, gray eyes, stormy and wild. They were set in the face of a delicate woman who would have been undeniably beautiful had she not been also horrible in every way. Her hair, long and white, flared about her face like the untamed blaze of a fire, framing an expression which was nothing if not full of rage. She verily glowed in the darkness like the full moon upon the surface of a lake, both soft and bright while also somewhat distorted.

In the background, the flame of her pitiful candle finally snuffed itself out, leaving the room cloaked in darkness once more.

"_GET OUT!_"

Caroline finally found the wherewithal to flee as the otherworldly shriek echoed around her. She tore the hem of her sister's negligee as she sprinted through the icy mist of the spirit, but did not stop even to collect her balance properly. Instinct drove her forward and out into the corridor, away from the phantasm's rage.

SLAM!

Once she had crossed the threshold, the door to the mistress' chambers snapped shut behind her, blocking her from reentry. As if she would ever wish to set foot inside again!

Caroline collapsed against the wall, sliding down the delicate wallpaper she would have replaced as mistress, and trembled. Could that have been real? Had she actually encountered a ghost? Phantom, specter, apparition, banshee, demon, spook, wraith – a departed soul who roamed the land searching for her lover after a tragic end? How could it possibly be, yet how could it possibly not? There was no rational explanation for what she had just encountered.

"Miss Bingley?"

Caroline started so violently that she yelped and tumbled backwards. Only the reflexive hand that darted out in her own protection halted her descent to the floor.

Though terrified of what she would find, Miss Bingley raised her line of sight to the person who had interrupted her ghastly musings – silently praying that whomever it was would be made of flesh and bone rather than mist and moonlight – to find Miss Georgiana Darcy standing over her in a long white nightgown, her blonde hair braided over one shoulder. Her gray eyes were shadowed with confusion and concern.

The sight of a tall lady with pale hair and eyes caused Caroline to flinch back. Indeed, there was something of a resemblance between Georgiana Darcy and the wraith who had just tormented her – though she supposed that must be likely if Pemberley were haunted by its former inhabitants.

"Miss Bingley, are you well?" inquired Miss Darcy, her eyebrows folding down as she observed her guest cowering on the floor. "Have you somehow gotten lost?"

Caroline lunged forward and gripped at the skirt of Miss Darcy's nightrail, startling the girl enough to step back. She clung tightly to the younger lady to prevent escape. "There is a ghost! In there!"

"A ghost?" Miss Darcy asked, tugging fruitlessly at the fabric tangled in Caroline's grasping fingers. "In where?"

"The mistress' chambers!"

Miss Darcy looked to the closed door, blinking at it with apparent surprise, before returning her attention to Miss Bingley. "You have been inside the mistress' chambers?" she asked then, her expression darkening into a scowl, "At this time of night?"

Would the girl not focus? What difference did it make what Caroline was doing there in the middle of the night – there was an otherworldly specter inside! "Yes! It is everything horrible and – _what are you doing_?" Caroline's voice raised to the pitch of a screech as Georgiana, now disentangled from her house guest, approached the door in question and reached for the knob.

"I am going to look inside," she replied with more intrepidity than Caroline would have expected.

"Have you gone mad?" Miss Bingley lurched to her feet and grasped at her hostess' nearest arm, attempting to drag her away from the portal to hell. "Have you not heard me say that there is a ghost in there?"

Miss Darcy tugged her arm free and attempted to calm Caroline with a soothing voice. "I am sure nothing is amiss inside, Miss Bingley. I have been into my mother's rooms many times and have seen no sign of anything horrible. I shall take a peek inside and show you that there is nothing to fear."

"No!"

Caroline was growing increasingly desperate, and not only from fear of the apparition within; if Miss Darcy did not believe her about her experience, then there would be no reasonable explanation for the mess that she was soon to discover. How could Caroline explain a shattered mirror, broken armoire and general disorder of a space to which, technically, she had no rights? Would they be ejected from Pemberley? That might not be so terrible considering recent events, but to be cut off from the patronage of the Darcys would be intolerable!

Creeeeeeeeeeak.

The door opened under Georgiana's direction with ease and she stepped inside, holding her own candle aloft to observe the space inside. Caroline waited for the girl to exclaim at the mess, but no such rebuke was forthcoming.

"I see nothing amiss, Miss Bingley," said Miss Darcy, pivoting her head to look in Caroline's direction once more.

"What?" Caroline peered over the girl's shoulder, careful to remain on the hallway side of the threshold, to observe what Miss Darcy was seeing. Surely she could not have expected to find the place in pieces!

However, the surprise was all Caroline's; not a single piece of furniture, figurine nor sheet was out of place other than what she had done herself. Her candle rested upon the uncovered vanity table, its wax hardening now that the flame was out, and her sister's dressing gown lay crumpled on the floor beside it. The snatched key lay upon the dull surface immediately beside the base of the candelabra, accusatory in its placement. The mirror was whole and there were no traces of the blood that had been dripping down its surface and puddling on the floor. The rest of the room looked as untouched as she had found it.

"I don't understand," complained Miss Bingley, stepping forward as if to breach the room. A cold, tingling sensation overwhelmed her suddenly, raising goosebumps upon her skin, and she thought better of it.

"Perhaps you were sleepwalking?" suggested Miss Darcy, her eyes darting downward for an instant to indicate Caroline's scantily clad form. When her gaze rose back up to her guest's face, it was rather severe and reminded Miss Bingley of her brother.

"I...ah...," she could not very well tell her prey's sixteen-year-old sister that she had been intent upon seducing her brother, so she accepted the gift of the girl's excuse with as much grace as she could muster. It wasn't much. "I suppose I was."

"And you shall take greater care in the future to prevent yourself from wandering the halls at night?" continued Miss Darcy.

Caroline grudgingly conceded. "Yes, I shall make a point of not...erm..._sleepwalking_."

"Very good," replied Georgiana as she stepped into her mother's old chambers and retrieved the objects upon the dressing table. The guttered candle and robe she passed along to Caroline, but the key she kept within her possession. "Now, shall I see you back to your room?"

o0o

"_There, there, Anne_," soothed her husband as his wife slammed the door shut behind that interloping hussy. "_Calm yourself. That Bingley girl cannot cause any further harm. At this moment, Fitzwilliam is downstairs with his future bride and well away from her clutches._"

"_I know_," replied Lady Anne as the aura around her calmed, "_but she has no right to be in this room. It is reserved for the rightful Mistress of Pemberley, not some upstart from trade._"

"_Elizabeth has family in trade, if you recall_," reminded George Darcy fondly. They hovered before the entryway that would lead into his former bedroom, the one now occupied by their son as he presided over the estate, blocking it from any further trespass from low class young women.

All around them, the room was righting itself and regaining its former orderly (if dirty) appearance. The broken furniture pieced itself back together, not a single seam visible once it had fused into wholeness again, and moved back into position. The porcelain figurines, shattered upon the floor, came back together and retreated to their places. Dust covers flew about the room as if they were full of spirits themselves and swaddled the newly restored furnishings. The only things left alone were those that the trespasser – that upstart – had disturbed or forgotten. Reality had knit itself back together.

Lady Anne waved his comment away, huffing with exasperation. "_That is neither here nor there, George! Elizabeth was raised as a gentlewoman and, more to the point, is not after our son simply for his fortune. Were that the case, she would have accepted him in the spring and saved us all much trouble._"

"_Ah, but she would not be such a charming, worthy young lady had that been the case_," replied George, taking his vexed wife's hand and bringing it up to his face. He caressed his luminescent cheek against it and bestowed a little kiss upon her fingers. "_And it did the boy some good to be humbled. I believe he had been spending too much time with your brother and sister and gotten a swelled head._"

"_Hmph._"

Creeeeeeeeeeak.

The pair fell silent and observed as the door to the hallway opened again, prepared to frighten away any unwanted visitors. They smiled, however, when their daughter, sweet Georgiana, stepped inside and peered about the room as if looking for a disturbance. She moved back out into the hall and could be heard to say, "I see nothing amiss, Miss Bingley."

"What?" screeched the interloper's voice. "I don't understand."

They could both sense her draw near the doorway and Lady Anne tensed, ready to scare Miss Bingley within an inch of her life if she had the nerve to return. George placed a steadying hand upon his wife's arm and projected a cold, creeping sense of menace to keep her out. The hint seemed to work for Miss Bingley approached no further.

"Perhaps you were sleepwalking?"

"I...ah...," paused Miss Bingley, "I suppose I was."

"_Sleepwalking my eye_," snorted George.

"And you shall take greater care in the future to prevent yourself from wandering the halls at night?"

"Yes, I shall make a point of not...erm..._sleepwalking_."

Lady Anne glowered at the doorway. "_See that you do._"

"Very good," replied their dear girl with a firmness her father could be proud of, either alive or dead. Georgiana marched into the room and collected together the rabble left behind by Miss Bingley's encroachment, removing every sign of their unwelcome guest's presence within the chamber excepting the displaced sheet. She clutched the key to her side as she returned the other items to Miss Bingley and said, "Now, shall I see you back to your room?"

The door closed behind the two ladies, leaving the pair of phantoms alone, hovering just slightly over the carpet. There were no words between them for several minutes.

"_I do wish she could still see us_," lamented Lady Anne, her forlorn voice reverberating around her old chambers, though the living could not hear.

George nodded as he placed a hand upon his dearly departed wife's lower back and drew her closer. She floated toward him as if gliding upon a breeze. "_As do I, my dear, but perhaps it is better this way. The living should not be so involved with the dead. Georgiana has much life to live, after all, and we would not wish to take her away from it._"

"_Easy for you to say_," sniffled Lady Anne as her head drooped upon his shoulder, "_you had much more time with her than I did. She remembers me not at all._"

"_Perhaps not_," George conceded, pressing his cold lips to her equally frigid forehead, "_but Fitzwilliam has told her all about you and it is as if she knows you. And she certainly has your commanding manner – did you see how well she managed that Bingley woman?_"

Lady Anne's laugh was as haunting as her person. "_Yes, though I believe she learned such behavior from our son._"

"_True, but who did he take it from? I have never been able to look so severe._"

"_I just wish..._," Lady Anne paused, gathering her words from deep within her departed soul, "_I just wish that I could truly be part of their lives, rather than a shadow that stalks them from another realm._"

"_As do I, my love, as do I._" George sighed, but continued on a more positive note, "_However, I believe our intervention this night has been invaluable to our children. Fitzwilliam will now marry that lovely Miss Elizabeth Bennet and raise a family and Georgiana will be spared having that interloping Bingley woman as a sister. Truly, though we are no longer of this world, we have made it better for our descendents._"

Lady Anne nodded as they both faded into the darkness, leaving not a trace of their existence behind.

o0o

Miss Bingley rose at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning, unable to withstand even the pretense of sleep any longer. She had not slumbered since her encounter in the mistress' chambers the night before – who could after such a fright? – and had merely waited for the sun to rise, surrounded by the glow of several candles which kept the darkness at bay.

She had spent the intervening hours between her rendezvous with the apparitions and daybreak pacing back and forth in her own assigned rooms, muttering to herself as she tried to rationalize her experience, and she was more physically and mentally exhausted than she had ever been. However, Caroline was more eager than ever to be with living, breathing human beings and only her sister's locked door had prevented her from achieving this goal sooner. Hurst's snores from within had drowned out any hope of waking Louisa from her repose and so Caroline had retreated back into her own bedchamber where she had fidgeted and fretted til morning.

Only once the sun had crept over the horizon, peeking shyly above the mountains in the distance, did Caroline determine it safe enough to venture forth into the house at large. She had called for her yawning and confused maid to dress her for the day, ignoring all the girl's questions about the success of her plans from the night before, and then practically fled the room.

Now Caroline haunted the corridors, alone except for the understated presence of the servants who flitted from room to room, dusting, sweeping and whatever else it was that they did. No one of any worth was yet awake, leaving the fidgety Miss Bingley to wander aimlessly.

Not far from the guest wing was the gallery, which had at least the benefit of something to gaze upon, so Miss Bingley bent her steps in that direction. She breathed more evenly as she entered the hall full of invaluable artwork, finding relief in the flood of sunlight that spilled into the space through the many tall windows. There was nothing supernatural in this part of the house, thank heaven.

Caroline scanned her eyes over each portrait, almost involuntarily searching for a resemblance to the phantasm she had crossed the previous night. Aside from the glossy image of her young hostess, none of the former Darcys looked even passingly like that horrifying spook. In the warm, shining light of a new day, Miss Bingley wondered – had it been some terrible nightmare after all?

Creeeeeeeeeeeak.

A giggle. "Fitzwilliam, _stop_! I must return to my...mmm..."

Soft murmuring in return; "Come back inside, my love. I have not quite finished with you yet."

Miss Bingley stopped where she was, her contemplation of Georgiana Darcy's features on hold at this interruption, and whipped her head toward the source of the unexpected voices. At the end of the corridor, a door stood ajar, bathing the carpeted floor in cheerful sunlight.

There was a rustle of fabric – Caroline flinched as she recalled the abuse she had taken from a sheet only hours ago – and another bubble of feminine laughter from just beyond the door. "The house is already stirring! I must get back to my chambers before we are discovered."

"Let them find us," countered the second voice; it was deep and rumbled like a man's. "We shall be married that much sooner."

There was a high pitched squeal before the lady spoke again, scolding in a faux scandalized tone, "Fitzwilliam! What a thing to say!"

There was some more scuffling just beyond the door, another muffled shriek of laughter and then some comparative silence. The only sounds Caroline could hear aside from the distant clatter of servants about their business were quick, panting breaths from within the occupied chamber.

Miss Bingley felt rather ill all of a sudden. Even a simpleton could discern the context of this uncomfortable scene and she would hardly classify herself as such. Moreover, those voices were disturbingly familiar.

It seemed that Eliza Bennet had succeeded where Caroline Bingley had failed.

Creeeeeeeeeak.

The door at the end of the hall gaped open a little more, as if smiling smugly at her, to reveal to her eyes what her mind had already deduced. There were Mr Darcy and Eliza Bennet, scandalously dressed in only the minimal amount of clothing allowed before being considered entirely nude, bathed in the warm yellow glow of early morning sunlight as they amorously embraced. Even the dust motes swirling around them seemed to dance in celebration of their newly kindled romance.

"How...how _vulgar_," Caroline muttered to herself, her lip drawing upward in a sneer. Mr Darcy, so wealthy and respectable, was behaving as a heathen in his own magnificent – if haunted – home! Far from deigning to kiss Eliza chastely, he appeared to be devouring the lower half of her face, his tongue visibly delving into her mouth for the purpose. And his hands – oh, his hands! They were both clasped firmly upon her buttocks and had pulled her close to the lower portion of his body, which he rubbed against her.

Worse, Eliza Bennet was clearly encouraging this behavior by grasping hold of his hair and responding fervently to his kisses. She was even returning some friction by gliding her body up and down, bouncing merrily upon her toes to do so. Caroline had always suspected that her rival was a wanton little hussy, and this proved it beyond all doubt.

And they were both creating the most disgusting noises! Ugh...they were not to be described.

The pair carried on with their petting, clearly oblivious to Caroline's presence, so she made a point of coughing to gain their attention. "Ahem."

There was no reaction at all.

"A-_hem_!" she coughed again, this time with more asperity.

Still ignored. This was not to be borne!

"I beg your pardon!" she finally said at the top of her voice. It was unladylike, but she hardly cared in the moment; the man she was _supposed_ to marry had clearly been compromised by someone else and so she had no one to impress.

Finally, the couple who had been fused at the lips sprang apart. It was Eliza Bennet who spoke first; "Miss Bingley! I – How long have you been there?" As she said this, Mr Darcy grasped her hips from behind and repositioned her to stand in front of him.

"Long enough," replied their reluctant viewing party with a sniff. "I suppose I am to congratulate you on your betrothal?"

This time, Mr Darcy took the initiative to answer, though he kept Eliza Bennet firmly before him. Cowering behind a woman! He was becoming less and less admirable to Miss Bingley's eyes every moment. In a deeply rumbling, raspy voice, he replied, "Yes, we thank you," a slight pause for awkwardness, "Breakfast shall be presented in the dining room any moment, Miss Bingley. Please feel free to partake at any time."

Caroline lifted her nose proudly into the air and proceeded toward the staircase; she was perfectly capable of taking a hint. She did not bother to dismiss herself from their presence with words for they deserved no such attention.

"Fitzwilliam, I...we..."

"Never fear my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. I shall speak to your uncle in the course of the morning and..."

Their simpering voices faded away as Miss Bingley flounced down the marble steps, huffing with derision. Miss Eliza Bennet could have Mr Darcy and this spirit-infested Bedlam! Miss Caroline Bingley would set her sights higher.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Elizabeth got _Ghostbusters_ and _Northanger Abbey_, but Miss Bingley got _Amityville Horror_ and _Poltergeist_. Muahahahaha... ; )

Though, considering the last line, maybe the intrepid Miss Caroline Bingley will still get her HEA. I personally doubt it, but she is determined...

I had not initially intended to write this bonus chapter, but Miss Bingely was just begging for a set down. Besides, I couldn't get the image out of my head once I'd thought of it. One of my reviewers (Ipinney) suggested in her comments on Chapter Two that I should throw her into the lake, which I admit was an admirable thought, but I had already been working on this when s/he said it. I still think this works better since it overlaps with the events of Chapter Three (Clean and MA versions, but not Squeaky Clean), but what a fun alternative! Maybe next time.

Similarly, other reviewers expressed a desire for Miss Bingley to get what was coming to her, which made me happy to oblige. And it was easy to do so since I had already written this short XD I even theorize that one of the reasons why several claimed a preference for Squeaky Clean was the fact that our dear Caroline got some instant (though not supernatural) karma at the end. I liked unleashing Lady Anne on her, personally...but there's merit in both approaches : D

THANK YOU to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited and followed this story. It means so much to me that others have enjoyed it, especially since this is my first foray into JAFF. If you liked "A Haunting at Pemberley," keep an eye out for my upcoming Christmas-themed fic "Welcome Home," which will be posted on my birthday, December 8. It's even longer than this one. My other stories, "Under the Influence" and "Dare to Refuse Such a Man," are currently in progress and posted in this profile.

Happy Halloween 2019!

– _MrsMarySmythe_


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